V! 

iV 


I * *. -v * 
a- - 

i i ■: 


i;;' ;^V. -^V V/Vv 


^ A • 

} *y.y': -■ “. 

1 ’ '4*** X . ■ ’ 







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Qoji^rigl^t !f0. 

Shelf 

J^153C 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


~0 








^ * * » «•'* , , * »*%.'• 
Ir • ■ v a « tffl 

' * * ^ ^ aPWW iSJM HRrHI 


j* 

1 ^ 


V _”j 








N 

« 


. V^- 









.Vv-n%v:_,.\ -4 




-* •* * .o?^ '• 

1 • . 


■ «<.■ 


■t:. 


- , * ' ■ . „i 

r . ... 


. ' “• f> 




' .k 


4 


i- . '■ 

* . * 4 


* . 




■- . ■ • , 

* ' . i /. V .^ * • ' 




/“ * 




. > 

*• ♦ 




y 

My 


. ‘ 1 */■ 




."> «► 


iv'. 

.. \ ■" * 




« 

» 


f 

k ., r^» • 

► ' . . 


* •> 
V 


^ f 



•■-. ''i: '.. .^' 

•J .:■> ■ f •• ’^.Wk 

v w % : ' \ . ' i ^ • \> i. . ' : 



• * 


■;v. ^ 

■f. - 

.. 1 ‘* • -*> -rr*' .. . >• 4.0 ‘ ^ ^ ; 

• ' . V • , 

^ * /IV 


'■y 




■j* 


?- 


* ‘ • 'V.< 


V '^f ^ ■ • .'^* -» I 

'■.X i .-i'- i I ^4^ 

. 1 :?M, . ■■• "• 


. -r/i 


r 'T -iP ^ . 

- ' ^ i- H . ■ * ■ ' 

, .• ".w^v • 


.* V' 


p .*■ 


;r^. 


**•*. ^. 


• f . .'■ . 

V ' . 

~v 




•r- 

- • * 


• ... ♦ - V^ESV . - . < “ 

af ^ ' 


jf* 




- 


• « < 

,.- -VJ 


0 • 


'■r* 



^“' •' ;■. ^ - v V 



• ^ 


Si!' 


\ • 

u.-*- 



a- •/•. 




•• ^ ' .-4. 




^ 

• 1 


.-A'^ ■ ■' • Vy ■ . ^^•V 

■* 5 R ' < ■ . > i c 4 . '■• v*"- 





> 

i -1 ' 














The Select Series. 
No. n?). 


Price, 25 Cents. 

THE Qomj\ pair. 

BY NEIU BaRSESS. 

FROM THE CELEBRATED PLAY OF THE SAME NAME. 


NEIL BURGESS AS ABIGAIL PRUE. 



jMEW 

g)TpS.ST & SNll'l’ia, ‘Publigljeps, 

25-3 1 f2ose Street. 





c/2 

f=-~i 


Q:: 


7 ^ 

3 * 

><J 

r uu 

3 ^ 
_ ^ 


s 


CO 

CO 

CO 


c-o 

c/2 


CCS 


CO 

C<2 


*=1: 

Uj 

Co 


THE QUESTION, “ IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE," m 

SETTLED AT LAST. ' ^ 

^ 

“You see, it works this way,’’ said a plump, rosy -checked 
little wife to a friend of ours the other day. “ When I used to. 
sort o’ scohl Harry in a verbal form for coming home late ai f 

night, or for not remembering my little commissions and re-, . ; 

quests during the day, he would grow nervous and irritable 
and perhaps say something ugly back at me. Then, possibly, 

I’d retort with more force than I really meant, which only * , 
made a bad matter worse. So, on refiection, I decided to ])ut 
all my little ‘curtain lectures’ on paper. To do this speedily, 

I procured a MERRITT Typewriter, costing only S15.00 c(;m- 
piete. Now I use fewer words than formerly, say exactly what 
I want to, and say it in a cool, dispassionate, pleasant style,', 
enclose it in an envelope and hand it to Harry with a kiss as 
he is departing for his office. Of course he reads it at his 
leisure, it serves as n gentle reminder to his memory, and if he 
wants to scold back, you know I’m not present to hear, and be 
knows that too. I'heii he thinks of the kiss 1 gave him as we 
parted, and he knows I love him, and the result is, all my 
reasonable requests are granted. No, indeed, marriage is not 
a failure in our home !’’ 

Moral— Let all husbands and wives provide themselves with 
the MERRl r'P Typewriter, and do all their scolding ai d fault- 
finding in printed letters addressed to each other, and see if 
married life is not a success. No slips of the unruly tongue 
then. 


.’■'i 




MANUFACTURERS OF 


1 ^ I I The best made. 

LU/NbULb?5i*«s 

out an equal. Ten in a package. Price 15 cents. 


CIGARROSSr 

Price 15 cents. 


I Havana Filler. Light 

/m I End. Ten in a package. 

I ^ \ ■ Price 10 cents. 


The above brands of Cigarettes are the best 

ALL TOBACCO CIGARETTES 

in the market. 


No Drugs. No Scraps. No Paper. No Equal. 


Ladies Who 
Value a Clear 
Complexion 

should use LA 
DTJCHESSE MED- 
ICATED POWDER 

as it is a most deliylit- 
ful adjunct to the 
toilet, and owinji: to 
its medicinal qualities 
of jrreat value in the 
cure and erradication 
of nimples, blotches, 
moth, freckles, etc., 
and imparts a most 
beautiful transpar- 
ency to the skin. It 
difters in its effect 
from all other com- 
plexion powders in, 
that it does not pro- 
duce a dry and 
parched appearance, 
but gives to the face 
and good liealth. Is 
recommended by eminent pliysicians for clearing the complexion, and en- 
dorsed by thousands of society ladies, who use it daily, as being tiie most 
perfect preparation of its kind in the world. Flesh, White, an(l Brunette. 
Highly perfumed. For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods Dealers every- 
where. Price 25 cents, postpaid. 

C. R. BAILEY, 20 Cedar St., New York. 

LATEST 25 CENT BOOKS. 

Popular American Copyright Stories. 

Handsome Lithograph Covers. Fully Illustrated. 

THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess. 

LADY RYHOPE’S LOYER, by Emma Garrison Jones. 
MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUins. 
PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards. 

THE HEIRESS OFEGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

DTNIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage. 

THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, hy Yictorieii Sardou, 
THEODORA, a companion story to “La Tosca” and “Fedora.” 

The above works are for sale hy all Newsdealers, or will he sent to anv 
address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers 

STREET & SMITH, 

P. O. Box 2734. 31 Bose Street, JHew York. 



that soft and velvety look, so natural to youth 






1 


t 


•Crft -r7:4 






THE SELECT SERIES. 


A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION, 

Uevoted to Grood. Heading in -Americaii Fiction. 

SuliSORiPTiON Price, $6.00 Per Year. No. 33.— JANUARY 15, 1890. 
Co2)y righted, 1890 , by street & Smith. 

Entered at the Post-Office, Neio York, as Seeond- Class Matter. 


THE COU/NTY FAIR. 


BY NEIL BURGESS. 


V 


From the Celebrated Play of the Same Name. 



By Charles Barnard. 



NEW YOBK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 


31 Rocie 


V 


p'r-i 



For Bilious and Nervous Disorders. 

Such as Wind and Pain in the Stomach, Sick Headaclie, Giddi- 
ness, Fullness, and Swelling* after Meals, Dizziness and 
Drowsiness, Cold Chills, Flushings of Heat, Loss of Ap- 
petite, Shortness of Breath, Costiveness, Scurvy, 
Blotches on the Skin, Disturbed Sleep, Frightful 
Dreams, and all Nervous and Trembling 
Sensations, &c., &c., &c. 

The first dose will give relief in twenty minutes. This is no fiction. 
Every sufferer is earnestly invited to try one box of these pills, and they 
will be acknowledg-ed to be a wonderful medicine— “Worth a guinea a 
box.” 

BEECHAM’S PILLS, taken as directed, will quickly restore females 
to complete health. For a 

Sick Headache, Weak Stomach, Constipation, 

Impaired Digestion, Disordered Liver, 

they act like magic. A few doses will work wonders iipon the vital organs, 
strengthening the muscular system, restoring long-lost complexion, bringing 
back the keen edge of appetite, and arousing with the rosebud of health the 
whole physical energy of the human frame. These are facts admitted by 
thousands, in all classes of society, and one of the best guarantees to the 
nervous and debilitated is that 

BEECHAW’.S PILLS HAVE THE LARGEST SALE OF ANY 
PATENT MEDICINE IN THE WORLD. 

PREPARED ONLY BY 

THOS. BEECHAM, ST. HELENS, LANCASHIRE, ENGLAND. 

Sold by Druggists generally. B. F. ALLEN & CO., 365 and 367 Canal 
street, New York, Sole Agents for the United States, who (if your druggist 
does not keep them) 

Will Mail Beecham’s Pills on Receipt 
of Price, 25 Cents. 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


PROLOGUE. 

“Yeou Tom, git off that boss’ back. For the 
land’s sake, Sally ! How long air yeou goin’ to keep 
me waitin’? Yeou Tom, leave that whip alone! 
Sal-ly! Oh, here yeou air. That’s a good girl, 
Sally. Naow, Sally, be sure yeou don’t let Tom git 
into any mischief while I’m gone. Yeou Tom, 
come away from that wheel ! If that boss was to 
start, where d’yeou s’pose yeou’d he? Sally! Tom! 
Sally, he’s under that boss’ legs ! Tom, yeou wicked 
boy, come out o’ that ! Tom, you’ll be the death o’ 
me yet. As if I hadn’t enough to worrit me ’thout 
him a-cuttin’ up his didos. Sally, put iiim in the 
settin’-room, an* shut him up till I get back. No, 
put him in the garret, where he can’t hurt nothin’.” 

And Miss Abigail shook Tom first, and handed 
him over to his sister afterward. 

‘Tf you please. Miss Abby,” said Sally, earnestly, 
“I will look after him and keep him out of mischief 
if you’ll only let him stay with me. He’d be so lonely 
in the garret. ” 

“Wa-al, let him stay daown, then. But don’t have 
no trouble with him, for I can’t stand it. I’ve got 
enough on my mind naow. Poor Mandy dead, an’ 


6 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


the funeral to-day. An’ what I’m to do with so 
many children, an’ me no more fit to take care of 
’em than a naked savage, I don’t know. For I 
s’pose I’ve got to bring Mandy’s baby hum with me. 
Phil Denton’s no more fit to bring it up than — than 
I am. Poor Mandy! That's what comes o’ 
marry in’ a photographer. I told her so when — 
Sally, turn that boss’ head so I can git in. For the 
land’s sake! Tom, git off that fence. Do yeou want 
to scar the life out o’ me, as if yeou was in a circus? 
Naow be a good girl, Sally, and don’t let him kill 
himself ’fore I git back. Git up, Dick!” 

Dick, so to speak, got up and carried Miss Abby 
on the way to Rockville, where her only sister, 
Amanda, lay dead ; and five-year-old Tom and ten- 
3^ear-old Sally were left alone in the old farm-house, 
the one to extract what joy was to be had out of 
life, and the other to keep watch and guard over 
him to see that he neither killed himself, set fire to 
the house or barn, nor did any other of the various 
things which to his limited vision seemed fraught 
with happiness. 

It was probably quite true, as Miss Abby herself 
had admitted, that she was no more fit to bring up 
the children — two orphans without a shadow of a 
claim upon her, except that they were helpless and 
homeless — than a naked savage. But perhaps if the 
naked savage of her imagination had been pos- 
sessed of as generous and kind a heart as hers, he 
would not have been as nearly disqualified as she 
seemed to think. 

She was gaunt of frame, and sharp and voluble of 
tongue — an ideal New England spinster — but her life 
was fuller of sweetness than many another whose 
voice was softer and whose manners were gentler. 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


7 


At this particular time she was more excitable and 
nervous than usual, for she had borne the brunt of 
the illness and death of her only and dearly loved 
sister, and was physically and mentally worn out. 

And now that Amanda was dead, there was the 
new care of the little girl, not yet two years old. She 
had such a poor opinion of the father that it never 
occurred to her that there was any other course open 
than to take the motherless child under her roof, 
little as she thought of her own ability to take care 
of children. 

Rockville was a straggling but thrifty little vil- 
lage, snugly ensconced among the rugged Vermont 
hills, and so far away from the hum of a busier life 
that it seemed to be in another world. It had its 
one general store, which was also its post-office, and 
there were exchanged not only the tangible things 
of the world, such as butter, eggs, and the like, but 
the intangible and more absorbing matters which 
are covered under the word gossip. 

At the end of its one street, and standing in for- 
lorn loneliness, was a little cottage, remarkable for 
its blue-curtained skylight, and for the legend which 
was painted in startlingly white and fanciful let- 
ters : 


PHILIP DENTON, PHOTOGRAPHER, 

TIN-TYPES TAKEN. 

Horses and Cattle a Specialty. 


Philip Denton was not a practical man, and never 
had been. He had married pretty Amanda Prue on 
hope, and lived on hope for the most part ever since 
the marriage. It had been a poor way to live, but 


8 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


the two people had been happy, nevertheless, con- 
triving to live after a fashion, even on so poor a 
thing as hope— but then it was always seasoned by 
love. 

At first Philip had let his ambition take him and 
his wife to Boston; but fortune was not kind to 
them there; for Amanda, after the birth of little 
Abby, was never strong, and nobody seemed to care 
for Philip’s tin-types; so he yielded to her patient 
longing for Vermont, and took her there, not to live, 
unfortunately, but to die. 

And now he was a broken-hearted man. There 
lay his wife, dead — the only person who had ever 
been able to look beyond the worldly weakness of 
Philip Denton and see something, not merely to 
love, but to respect. She was dead among her 
friends, but not among his, and he was doubly 
alone. There was only little Abby left to him, and 
she almost killed him with her innocent prattle of 
her dead mother. But he sat alone with her, rather 
than go into some of the other rooms where he 
would hear the kindly meant but jarring remarks 
of the neighbors who had come in to help Miss 
Abby — no one thought of it as helping him — perform 
the last sad offices, and to help entertain the friends 
who came from near and far. 

Of course they all pitied him, but they sympa- 
thized with Miss Abby, an arrangement which 
suited both of them ; for as much as he preferred to 
grieve in solitude, in the same degree she preferred 
the old-fashioned plan of weeping among her 
friends, and listening to what they had to offer in 
the way of consolation or comment. 

‘The Lord knows best, Abby,” said Miss Betsy 

Tucker. “Maybe she’ll be happier where she is,” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘I hope SO, Betsy,’’ sniffed Miss Abby, ‘‘I hope 
so, but she was the only sister I had.” 

‘'It’s what’s got to come to all on us, Abby. I 
wouldn’t take on ef I was yeou. She knowed her- 
self the end wa’n’t far off, an’ was prepared fer it, 
as much as anybody can be.” 

"I know it, Betsy, an’ I know it wa’n’t jest the 
same as if everything was easy fer her here. Philip’s 
a good man as ever was, but no more fit — goodness 
knows why she ever married him when there was 
plenty others hanging ’round jest ready to pick 
from. And her as gentle all the time as an unborn 
lamb. It made my heart bleed many’s the time, 
Betsy Tucker, to see that child. And there’s that 
baby — what’s to become o’ her? Of course I’ll take 
her hum with me, but I ain’t no more fit than a 

wild Injun to . She was always a good sister, 

Betsy.” 

‘T know she was, Abby. Why, it’s only last 
week I was sayin’ to Otis, ‘Otis,’ says I, ‘Abby’s 
goin’ to miss Mandy — didn’t I, Otis?’ ” 

“So ye did, Betsy,” drawled Otis, wiping a sym- 
pathetic tear from his eye, and casting a glance full 
of commiseration at Miss Abby, who simpered a 
trifle in the midst of her grief even, for Otis had 
been showing her marked attention for nearly five 
years now, and it was naturally embarrassing to her 
to have others witness his tenderness. 

“Very kind, I’m sure,” said Miss Abby. 

“I feel pesky sorry for Philip, too,” drawled Otis. 

But the remark was not precisely a success, for, 
while no actual demur was made to the sentiment, 
the women present* only cast up their eyes and 
sighed, as if with difficulty repressing the opinion 


10 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


that, after all, he had himself to blame for a great 
deal of what had happened. 

A dead silence of several moments’ duration, fol- 
lowed the remark of Otis, and he was shifting from 
one foot to the other in protesting uneasiness, when 
one of the women, with a melancholy shake of the 
head, said, suggestively: 

“He wa’n't Vermont born, was he?” 

“Daown Boston way,” answered Miss Abby, 
mournfully. 

“Ah, I thought he wa’n’t Vermont,” said another. 

“Seems to sort o’ lack ambition,” said Miss Betsy 
Tucker. 

“He’ll miss Mandy,” said another. 

“Ah-h!” was the general chorus. 

“Looks as nat’ral as if she’d only gone to sleep,” 
suggested one of the ladies presently, as if it had oc- 
curred to her that the conversation was tending 
from the business in hand. 

“Looks more es she did es I remember her es a 
gal,” sighed another. 

“Everybody expected great things of Mandy then, 
she was so purty and had more eddication than 
some.” 

“Ah-h!” 

“Wa-al, anyhow, Abby, you ain’t no cause to re- 
proach yourself. You was a mother to her.” 

“An’ she was a good sister,” sobbed Miss Abby. 

“Ah-h!” 

“He’ll drive over with the minister,” said a soft, 
insinuating voice, at this juncture, and without 
looking around, they all knew it was the undertaker 
who was speaking. “Will yeou drive Miss Abby and 
yeour sister over, Otis?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


11 


‘‘Of course, I will/* drawled Otis, bashfully. 

“Yeou’re very kind,” simpered Miss Abby. 

Some of the neighbors remained at the cottage and 
put it in order, so that when the bereaved husband 
returned he should find it as cheerful as might be 
under the circumstances. 

If they had left it as it was he would not have re- 
marked it, for his eyes were shut to everything ma- 
terial in his passionate grief for his wife. When he 
came back from the cemetery he asked for little 
Abby, who had been taken in charge by one of the 
neighbors, and would have shut himself up in the 
cottage. 

But in this he reckoned without Miss Abby, who 
had had Otis put her down at the cottage, and who 
entered the little sitting-room to find him hugging 
little Abby to his heart in a paroxysm of loneliness. 

It was more than Miss Abby could bear, and she 
incontinently dropped into a chair and wept, per- 
haps for the first time, for pity for the bereaved hus- 
band and child. 

“Don’t, Abby, please don’t,” said Philip, huskily. 

“I can’t help it, Philip,” and the good spinster 
sobbed more unrestrainedly. “It breaks my heart to 
think o’ yeou and Mandy’s child left all alone.” 

Philip stroked little Abby’s hair, but said nothing. 
Miss Abby cried a little more, and then wiped her 
eyes wdth an air that seemed to say that the time 
for crying was past, and that for action come. 

“But, there,” she said, in her brisk way, “the 
Lord’s will be done! Git yeour things and come 
along to the farm with Abby. Come, yeou dear 
lamb! Come, Philip! Yeou. can think o’ what 
yeou’re goin’ to do afterward.” 


12 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


‘Thank you, Abby. You are very kind; but I 
think I’d rather stay here.” 

“Stay here! For the land’s sake, Philip! what 
air yeou thinkin’ of? Yeou must not think on it for 
a minit. Besides, if Abby is goin’ to stay with me, 
it’ll be better for her to come right away.” 

“Stay with you, Abby?” 

“Yeou don’t s’pose I’d let her go among stran- 
gers, do yeou? I should think yeou’d know me bet- 
ter’n that.” 

“Why, of course, Abby, I never doubted your 
kind heart.” 

“Then come right along.” 

“No, Abby, I will stay here to-night. Thank you 
kindly just the same.” 

“And Abby ’ll go with me and leave yeou behind? 
’Twouldn’t be nat’ral, Philip.” 

“No, Abby will stay with me. I couldn’t be parted 
from her now for even a night ; she is all that is left 
to remind me of Amanda, and she is doubly neces- 
sary to me.” 

“Yeou don’t mean — yeou wouldn’t keep her all 
the time. Yeou don’t mean that?” 

“Certainly, Abby. I couldn’t let her go away 
from me.” 

“Why, Phil Denton, yeou ain’t fit to take keer o’ 
that child.” 

“I am its father, Abby.” 

“But yeou ain’t its mother, and can’t be, Philip.” 

“Ah, don’t argue with me now, Abby. I can’t 
say any more than that she must stay with me. 
Amanda would rather have it so, and that alone 
would be enough to infiuence me. I thank you 
heartily, Abby, and I know how good you are, but I 
must keep Abby with me. ” 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


13 


‘‘Then come along yeourself. This ain’t no place 
for yeou, either, if it comes to that.” 

“No, let me stay here for this one night. It will 
be the last.” 

“For goodness sake, Philip, what do yeou mean by 
that ? Y eour last ! ’ ’ 

“Haven’t I told you that I was going to the city 
with Abby?” 

“For the land’s sake! Yeou go to the city with 
that child! Yeou’re crazy, Philip Denton — stark, 
starin' !” 

Philip neither denied nor assented to this opinion, 
but wearily wished his kind but eccentric sister-in- 
law would leave him with his grief. But this Miss 
Abby would not do until she had exhausted every 
argument in her reach. She even went so far as to 
offer to have him come to her farm and work on it, 
though, as she said to herself at the same time, he’d 
be about as useful as little Abby there. 

Philip, however, was obdurate, and would only 
promise that, if the time ever came when he found 
himself unable to take proper care of the little 
thing, he would send her to Miss Abby. For the rest 
he said he had made up his mind some time before 
to go to New York. 

And Miss Abby, finding that he was not to be 
moved, first berated him, then cried over him, and 
finally insisted that he should let her give him what 
spare money she had. He would have refused that, 
too, but that he found she would be very much 
grieved, so he took it as a loan, and she bade him 
good-night, and drove away crying, an exercise 
which she continued at intervals during the even- 
ing, after she had eaten her supper. 

The next morning the stage carried Philip Denton 


14 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


and his little daughter away from the village of 
Rockville, and Miss Abby, and Sally, and Tom 
waved after them, as the stage passed the farm- 
house, whatever thing was most available — Tom’s 
banner being a certain undergarment of Miss Abby’s 
which had been laid upon the grass to bleach, and 
which Miss Abby, when she had recovered from the 
sight of the receding stage, snatched from his hand 
with a wild shriek, before she sank, almost fainting 
with mortification, into a chair. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RACE-COURSE AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 

‘‘Sally, did yeou get them milk pans scalded and 
wiped?” 

“Yes, Miss Abby.” 

“Then go right up stairs, and put on yeour things, 
for there ain’t no time to waste. Where’s Tom?” 

“Here I am. Miss Abby.” 

Miss Abby turned, and saw Tom sitting demurely 
in a chair, his hair carefully brushed, his face clean, 
and his best clothes on. She eyed him suspic- 
iously, and exclaimed, sharply : 

“For the land’s sake, Tom Greenaway! what hev 
yeou been doin’ naow?” 

“What hev I been doin’?” cried Tom, in a tone of 
injured innocence. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’. Yeou 
can’t never let a feller alone. Yeou’re alius a sus- 
pectin’ me o’ doin’ somethin’, yeou are.” 

“So yeou air, Miss Abby,” said Sally, half indig- 
nantly. 

Miss Abby pursed her lip and looked at her, and 
then said, apologetically : 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


15 


‘‘There, there ! Don’t say no more. Run up-stairs, 
Sally, and, yeou Tom, ITl ^ive yeou a quarter to 
spend at the fair if yeou can keep it up to be so 
good as this till we git there.” 

“Thank yeou. Miss Abby,” said Tom, but there 
was more dismay than hope expressed in his face. 

Five years had gone by since Tom had waved a 
white, bifurcated garment after Philip Denton, but 
the only change on Rock-bottom Farm seemed to be 
in the growth of Sally and Tom. Miss Abby seemed 
hardly a day older, and this day, as on that day five 
years ago, she seemed to be devoting most of her 
spare time to scolding Tom. 

But for all his injured air, Tom was used to it, 
and, if the truth be told, did his best to deserve it. 
During all those five years he had made it the busi- 
ness of his life to plan and execute mischief, keep- 
ing Miss Abby in a constant state of terror, and 
every day making it clearer to her that she was to- 
tally unfit to bring up children. 

And yet she would not have known how to get 
along without the little rascal, and if she had been 
given the choice between losing Sally, who never 
gave her the least bit of trouble, or Tom, who gave 
her nothing else, it is likely that she would have 
found it hard to decide. 

And Tom, on his part, though he so tormented his 
kind-hearted benefactress, loved her dearly, and 
would have stopped at nothing to do her a service. 
He would even have been good if he had been able, 
but he v^as not. It seemed as if he was overcharged 
with animal spirits, the only vent for which was in 
teasing Miss Abby or his sister Sally, now just bud- 
ding into a charming maidenhood. 


16 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Miss Abby disappeared up the stairs after Sally, 
saying to Tom as she did so : 

“Go git Dick hitched up, Tom; weTl be dressed 
by the time yeou git around.’’ 

“Yes’um,” said Tom. 

But instead of going out to the barn to do as he 
was bidden, he crept to the foot of the stairs, and 
bent his head as if to listen, muttering to himself as 
he did so : 

“By gosh! I’ll bet I’ve lost that quarter.” 

And presently there came a sudden scream from 
Miss Abby, followed by one of sympathy from Sally, ' 
and then a succession from both in chorus. In spite 
of the lost quarter, Tom could not help laughing 
outright, though he had his hand over his mouth to 
drown the noise of his mirth. 

“It was that Tom, drat him!” came down to him 
in Miss Abby’s voice. 

“Oh, Miss Abby, it might ’a got up here itself,” 
pleaded Sally. 

“Might ’a got fiddlesticks!” answered Miss Abby, 
angrily, “but I’ll make him smart for it, see if I 
don’t.” 

“Ugh! the nasty thing ! Don’t tech it. Miss Abby.” 

“I ain’t afraid on it,” answered Miss Abby, “but 
it might ’a given anybody a start. I wonder I didn’t 
faint clean away.” 

Tom chuckled and ran softly out to the barn to 
put Dick to the two-seated wagon. When he drove 
up to the house he found Miss Abby and Sally wait- 
ing on the front porch. 

“Yeou’ll let me drive, won’t yeou, Miss Abby?” he 
said, in his most ingratiating tone. 

“I’ll let yeou get daown from that wagon,’' an- 
swered Miss Abby, grimly. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


17 


‘‘What for?’’ demanded Tom, with rather over- 
acted innocence. 

“Because yeou’re goin’ to stay to hum, that’s 
what for.” 

“Stay to hum, Miss Abby?” cried Tom, really 
scared now. 

“Stay to hum?” repeated tender-hearted Sally. 

“Stay to hum’s what I said, an’ stay to hum’s 
what I meant. Git daown, sir — git daown,” and 
Tom, recognizing a tone in the voice that was not to 
be disobeyed, climbed slowly out of the wagon, tak- 
ing care to get out on the side away from Miss 
Abby. “Ain’t yeou ashamed of yeourself, Tom 
Greenaway? Puttin’ a frog in the toe of my 
stockin’ — if I must say sech a word out o’ the house 
— and most scarin’ me into a fit! I s’pose yeou think 
it’s fun. Wal, I’ll give yeou a chance to enjoy it. 
Sally, git in that wagon. Yeou’ll stay to hum, Tom 
Greenaway. No fair for yeou, sir, this year.” 

“Please, Miss Abby ” began Tom. 

“Not a word !” 

“Oh. Miss Abby,” pleaded Sally, half -crying, 
“won’t yeou excuse him this time? His heart’s sot 
on goin’ to the fair.” 

“An’ my foot was sot onto a frog,” retorted Miss 
Abby, grimly. 

“Please, won’t yeou fiog me, Miss Abby, ’stead o’ 
makin’ me stay to hum?” whimpered Tom. 

“If yeou don’t hurry into the house and take off 
them store clothes. I’ll give yeou a fioggin’, too. My 
stars ’n garters!” she went on indignantly, as Tom, 
making a wide circuit to avoid her threatening 
hand, sprang into the house. “I’ll bind that boy to 
Solon Hammerhead, see if I don’t. There’d be a 
nice hum for him, wouldn’t it? He’d play his 


18 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


pranks on Solon Hammerhead maybe. Yeou Tom, 
do yeou hear what I say?'’ 

‘T don’t care,” answered Tom, rendered altogether 
reckless by the magnitude of his punishment. 

‘'Very well, sir, I’ll see Solon Hammerhead at the 
fair, an’ I’ll speak to him, or my name ain’t Abigail 
Prue.” 

“Oh, yeou wouldn’t. Miss Abby,” sobbed Sally, 
who had never seen the good lady so angry before. 

“Hush, Sally Greenaway ! For the land’s sake ! do 
yeou think I’m goin’. Tom, I want to see yeou 
daown here in yeour old clothes ’fore I budge a step ; 
and if yeou don’t hurry I’ll find a way to make yeou. 
Naow yeou be smart!” 

As Tom knew Miss Abby could be very energetic 
when she was roused, and she was so evidently 
roused now that he ceased to dawdle as he had been 
doing, and threw off the good clothes and donned 
the old ones as rapidly as he could. And when they 
were on he went down stairs, and sulkily presented 
himself to Miss Abby. 

“I hope this’ll be a lesson to yeou,”said Miss Abby, 
climbing into the wagon and taking up the reins. 

“Please, Miss Abby, won’t yeou let me stay 
hum with him,” begged Sally, through her tears. 

“For the land’s sake! No.” And Miss Abby 
slapped the reins on Dick’s back and gave them a 
pull or two in woman fashion, as if she were fishing 
instead of driving, and the wagon rolled off, leav- 
ing Tom behind with wet eyes and a rebellious spirit. 

He watched the wagon until it was out of the lane 
and out of sight, too. Then he burst into a passion 
of tears, in the midst of which* he gave vent to the 
fury of his soul in a series of destructive kicks at 
the paling fence of the garden. Then he stopped cry- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


19 


ing as suddenly as he had begfun, and pulling out 
his jack knife commenced to whittle one of the pal- 
ings. 

“Bind me to Solon Hammerhead ! I'll bet she 
won’t. I’ll run away first. Don’t know how to 
take a joke. I wonder if she thinks I’m going to 
stay here all day! Well, I won’t. See if I do.” 

But it was with Tom as with many an older per- 
son. It was easier to vow and declare and protest 
than to do. He was sure he would not stay at 
home, but he was quite unable to see what he was 
going to do instead, and his impotence made him, as 
it usually does everybody else, sullen. 

He sat down on the grass, and played a dismal 
game of mumble-the-peg by himself, his mind con- 
stantly reverting to the tyranny of Miss Abby, the 
hardships of himself, and the necessity of righting 
the wrongs from which he suffered. He quite forgot 
the exquisite joke of the frog, andremenibered only 
his punishment. - 

But it is very likely that all his rebelling and re- 
pining would soon have worn themselves out in ser- 
vice, if something had not occurred which presented 
to him a most delightful way of at once indemnify- 
ing himself and of having a capital joke. As he 
played, he heard a rattle of wheels on the road. He 
looked up and across the fields to the road. There 
was Otis Tucker in his old chaise— Tom knew it 
and the horse, as he knew his own face. 

Tom’s mind was very active, particularly for mis- 
chief, and he sprang up and ran down the lane as 
fast as his legs could carry him, intending to cut off 
Otis before he should pass the gate. He knew the 
habits of Otis, and was sure he would pull up a lit- 
tle before passing. Indeed, he had seen Otis peer- 


20 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


ing out the side of the chaise, trying, no doubt, to 
discover if Miss Abby, whom he was still devotedly 
attentive to, had gone yet. 

He must have seen Tom as the boy ran down the 
lane, for he drew up at the entrance, just as Tom 
reached there. He leaned forward, and looked at 
Tom, who, panting hard, laid one hand on the shaft, 
and waited until he had recovered breath before he 
should speak. 

‘‘Mornin’, Tommy,” drawled Otis. 

‘^Good-mornin’, Mr. Tucker.” 

“Miss Abby gone yet. Tommy?” 

“Yes, sir, an’ I had some work to do, an’ so I 
stayed behind. I thought maybe yeou’d take me 
with yeou.” 

“Sartain, Tommy, sartain. Git in.” 

“If yeou don’t care, Mr. Tucker,” said the perfid- 
ious Tommy. “I’d like to go back and put on my 
store clothes.” 

“Go right along. Tommy. I’ll wait,” said the 
good-natured and unsuspicious Otis. “Don’t hurry.” 

So Tommy, who was anxious not to overtake Miss 
*Abby, walked leisurely back to the house, and 
changed his clothes once more. It had always been 
Tommy’s motto to take care of to-day and let the 
morrow take care of itself, and that is why he did 
not give Miss Abby’s wrath more consideration now. 

The horse-racing at the fair had always been a 
thing which he looked forward to from one fair 
time to another, and which he imitated with Miss 
Abby’s horse at such times during the intervening 
year as he could find opportunity. He was devoted 
to horses and to riding, and the one part of his farm 
work that he did well was taking care of Dick. If 
he had missed the racing, he would have grieved 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


21 


over it for the whole year. And now, for the chance 
of seeing it, he was willing to brave Miss Abby's 
anger, with even the possibility of being bound to 
Solon Hammerhead. 

He lingered as long as he thought necessary over 
his toilet, not usually so prolonged an operation, fas- 
tened up the house, leaving the key under the step, 
as was customary in such cases, and sauntered back 
to where even the patient Otis was wondering why 
he did not come. 

He stepped into the chaise, begged that he might 
be allowed to drive, and took the reins, as happy a 
boy as could be found in Vermont, for he was goin^ 
to the fair in spite of Miss Abby, and the time of 
reckoning was at least twelve hours away ; for he 
would take good care to keep out of Miss Abby’s 
way during the day. And, now, too, he could appre- 
ciate once more the joke of the frog. 

Tom had a fancy for fast driving, which was well 
known to Otis, but on this day, to the surprise of 
the worthy man, he drove as deliberately as any 
old farmer. The fair-grounds were reached at last, 
however, and Tom drove triumphantly through the 
gate, chuckling to think how he had got to the fair 
after all. 

‘There’s Miss Abby, naow,” exclaimed Otis, as 
Tom drew up to tie the horse in a stall under a shed. 

Tom looked quickly, and there certainly was Miss 
Abby, attracted by the voice of Otis, and looking 
directly at Tom with a stare not unlike what might 
have been expected of the famed Medusa. Tom, 
however, was not turned to stone. He did for one 
brief moment lose his presence of mind, but he 
quickly recovored it, and slipped out of the carriage, 


22 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


and lost himself in the crowd, leaving Otis to ex- 
plain the phenomenon of his appearance. 

‘'For the land’s sake, Otis, what did yeou bring 
that boy for? Where is he? Wa al, why don’t ye 
speak, Otis Tucker? Tom Greenaway! Sally, did 
yeou see where he went? My stars ’n garters, Otis 
Tucker 1 yeou’re a nice one to bring that boy here 
when ” 

“Why, Miss Abby ” drawled Otis, in bewilder- 

ment, when Miss Abby snapped him up short. 

“Well, there! the day ain’t long ’nough to find 
aout from yeou. Let him go. I was more’n half 
sorry ’fore I got here that I hadn’t brought him. For 
the land’s sake, Otis! how yeou air dressed up!”- 

“If it comes to that. Miss Abby,” answered Otis, 
in his slow way, “yeou’re fixed up pretty slick yeour- 
self.” 

This exchange of compliments put the good lady 
into an excellent humor, and she went off by the side 
of Otis to see the sights of the fair, always the 
same, but always equally thrilling in that far-away 
corner of the country. And Sally walked with them, 
reconciled to enjoying the fun, now that Tom was 
there, and Miss Abby was no longer angry with him. 

Tom, however, had no other idea than that he 
would be hunted down, and, if caught, condemned 
to dire punishment of some sort quite unknown to 
him ; for, in truth, he had never been much more 
than threatened, and each time that he found him- 
self in trouble he was in greater distress to know 
what his punishment would be than he would have 
been had he definitely known it. 

He knew pretty well where Miss Abby and Otis 
would be likely to go from choice, and he knew how 
to avoid those places ; but he also was well aware 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


23 


that his penchant for horses was known, and that if 
he was searched for it would be near the race-course. 

There was one part of the race-course, however, 
that they would not be likely to go to, and that was 
at the stables where the horses which were to race 
were kept. These were sacred precincts, where 
only the very horsiest of the countrymen were per- 
mitted to go ; but in his extremity Tom determined 
to make the attempt to gain an entrance and also 
an asylum there. 

There were a great many boys as well as men 
gathered around the gates opening to the stables, 
and all of them longing to get inside ; but probably 
none of them had as much need to get in as Tom 
fancied he had. 

None, at any rate, had the same audacity; for, 
having made up his mind to get in, Tom seized the 
first opportunity, and slipped past the gate-keeper 
with an air of belonging inside. 

Once in, fortune seemed to favor him, for he saw 
a man holding a blanketed horse by the head, look- 
ing around for somebody. 

‘‘Want me to hold him for yeou?” demanded Tom, 
as bold as brass. 

The man looked Tom oyer from head to foot, and 
then answered : 

“I want him walked, but he’d get away from 
you.” 

“Naw, he wouldn’t,” answered Tom, scornfully, 
and went straight up to the animal, and took a 
short hold of the rein, and patted the creature’s neck. 

“You’ll do,” said the man, and giving minute di- 
rections as to how the horse should be walked, he 
went hack into the stables. 

Walking a horse may seem like very uninteresting 


24 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


pastime, but Tom was well enough pleased with it, 
for it was easy for him to see that he held a veritable 
racer by the head, and, moreover, he had not been 
long in the paddock before more and more horses 
were brought in and led around, and he began to 
hear the merits of the various horses discussed by 
the boys and men. 

A great deal of the talk he could not understand, 
for it was mixed up with oaths and stable slang, 
which made a language as incomprehensible to him 
as if it had been Greek ; but all that related to the 
horses and their chances in the races was a pure 
delight to him. 

He walked not only that horse, but the man who 
had given it to him found him so willing and so in- 
telligent that he gave him another and another to 
lead around the paddock, until at last Tom could 
have dropped from sheer weariness. 

But now came the relief of the racing, and from 
the stable-yards an excellent view could be had of it, 
the horses being all put back in the stables while the 
running was going on. 

Then the dripping horses were brought in, and 
had to be rubbed down. Tom was now in his ele- 
ment, and, without waiting to be invited, took off 
his jacket, and entered into the work with such 
zest as to call forth several encomiums from the 
man who had employed him to lead the horses. 

‘‘Ho flies on you, are there, sonny?” he said to 
Tom. 

“No, sir,” answered Tom, looking over himself in 
good faith, and thereby causing a great shout of 
laughter. 

“Well, never you mind, sonny, you know what to 
do around a horse, anyhow. Can you ride?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


25 


“I should say so.” 

“What d’ye weigh?” 

“Eighty-seven pounds, sir.” 

The man turned with a slight nod of his head to 
another man standing not far away, and, receiving 
an answering nod from him, went on : 

“Ever ride a race?” 

“No, sir.” 

“How d’ye know you can ride, then?” 

“I didn’t know yeou meant a race. I thought 
yeou meant just a ride. I can ride any horse yeou 
want to bring me.” 

“Can, eh?” and the man walked away and took 
the other man by the arm, whispering in his ear, 
‘“What d’ye say, Sam? Isn’t he just the chicken we 
want?” 

“I don’t see how; he wouldn’t know how to pull 
the brute.” 

“That’s just it. He can ride well enough — I can 
see that from the way he goes about a horse ; but he 
can’t ride a race, and he’d pull a horse without 
meaning to, don’t you see?” 

“Maybe you’re right. Better’ll putting one of the 
regular boys up to it, and having to make a divvy. 
Try it.” 

The man returned to where Tom stood, having 
finished rubbing down, and said to him: 

“What’s your name?” 

Tom was on the point of giving his right name, 
when a suggestion of prudence came to him, and he 
answered, quickly: 

“Tim, sir.” 

“Tim, would you like to ride in one of the races 
to-day?” 


26 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


‘^Oh, yes, sir, if I could, but I can’t ride well 
enough for that.” 

‘'I guess you can. Come in here and try this suit 
of clothes on.” 

It seemed like the realization of the wildest sort 
of dream to Tom when he found himself in a pair of 
knee breeches, top boots, and a green satin jacket 
and cap. He was dreadfully nervous, and assured 
the man, whose name he discovered was Charlie 
Porter, that he would never be able to ride properly. 
Charlie, however, reassured him as to that, and 
made so light of it that he presently grew more con- 
fident, and began to feel that perhaps he would be 
able to do it. 

‘TTl do the best I can, anyhow,” said Tom. 

“Do just as I tell you,” said the man, “and you 
will be all right.” 

And forthwith he began to instruct him in such a 
way that if Tom carried out his instructions he 
would be sure to lose the race, though no one listen- 
ing, unless he was an expert, would have guessed it. 

When the horses were brought out for saddling, 
and Tom showed his nervousness by the way he 
tried to help, the two men winked at each other and 
smiled. It was a foregone conclusion that the boy 
would lose the race for them. And it was still more 
certain in their minds when they saw how little able 
he seemed to control the horse. 

Tommy weighed in, mounted the horse, and rode 
out into the track. It seemed to him that all the 
blood in his body had rushed to his eyes, for when 
he tried to look around at the cheering crowds of 
people lining the track, he could see nothing but a 
blur of white and black. 

Still it was a proud moment for Tommy, and he 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


27 


recovered his presence of mind much more readily 
than the men who had mounted him on the horse 
had any notion that he could. For reasons of their 
own they wished the horse to lose the race, and they 
were so confident that he would, although he was 
the favorite in the betting, that they had arranged 
it so that they would win vastly more if he should 
lose than they could by his winning. 

For a little while the high-spirited horse did pretty 
nearly as he pleased with Tommy, and tore around 
the course perhaps a quarter of a mile before Tommy 
could pull him up ; but he did pull him up, and by 
that little tussle with him became his master. 

He rode him quietly back to the starting-post, and 
held him in readiness for the dropping of the red 
flag. Tommy had drawn fourth place, but he was 
so little used to any such thing that he could not 
take his place, and after a deal of bad language 
from the others, and from the starter, he was finally 
told that the start would be made without any re- 
gard to him, whereat Tommy was very much re- 
lieved. 

There were several false starts, as there usually 
are, but the flag finally went down, and off went the 
horses all in a bunch. Tommy then tried to remem- 
ber what Charlie Porter had told him, but for his 
life could not. All he could remember was that he 
was to hold back for the first part, and not ride out 
until he reached a certain spot, but where that spot 
was he could not remember, so there was nothing 
for him to do but do his best, and that he did. 

He stood in his stirrups as he saw the others 
doing, and all together they went around the first 
curve. Tommy began now to feel all the exhilara- 
tion of riding a racer. Such an easy, long stride. 


28 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


such an effortless recover, he had never experienced 
before. The pace to him was like flying. 

They passed the three-quarter post, and now some 
of the poorer ones began to drop out. Tommy held 
his place in a little bunch just behind the two horses 
which had taken and held the lead from the start. 
At the half-mile the leaders began to fall back to 
the little bunch, and one of the horses by the side of 
Tommy began to forge ahead. 

Then was the time Tommy wished most that he 
could remember what his instructions were, but for 
the life of him he could not. However, what was 
best for the horse by his side might be best for him. 

At any rate he would try it. 

He gave his horse his head a little, and, like the 
noble beast he was, he answered the signal and took 
his place alongside the other. Then Tom noticed 
another horse coming up on the other side of him. 
The leaders by this time had gradually fallen be- 
hind, and by a turn of his head Tom saw that there 
were only three of them any longer in the race, and 
they swept on to the quarter-post with constantly 
increasing: speed. 

Now was the real race, and Tom felt a thrill of 
exultation as he rounded the curve into the home- 
stretch, and saw a straight track before him. He 
sat down in the saddle, for he could no longer urge 
the horse on while standing in the stirrups. 

On each side of him the riders were plying the 
whip, and Tom saw himself dropping behind ever so 
little. It seemed to him that the man had told him 
to whip hard, but he could not be sure, and he con- 
cluded to wait a little longer, for the noble animal 
went so easily under him that there seemed no need 
of it yet. 









30 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


They were half way down the stretch, and the 
horse on the outside had begun to crowd him out. A 
little more and he was a full length ahead of him. 
Tommy’s heart went right up into his throat, for he 
knew what that meant. He must go on the outside 
now, and lose a fullTength, for it would be useless 
to try to push through. 

But could he win the race now? He could hear 
the shouts of the crowds now, and he determined to 
win, if the thing were possible. He let himself fall 
behind until he could turn and get on the outside, 
and then he called on his horse with a little cry, 
not daring to lift the whip. 

The horse responded to Tom’s call, and, as if he 
had not been running before, stretched himself out 
and came up on the flank of the second horse. He 
overhauled him, and was only a neck behind the 
leader. It seemed to Tom that his horse scarcely 
touched the ground, and he no longer had any doubt 
of winning. 

“Hi! hi!”’ he cried, and like a whirlwind swept 
up, and held nose to nose with the leader. 

Only a few strides more and Tom, with a sudden 
instinct of how to help his horse, began to ride him 
out in approved style. It seemed to those on the 
grand stand that Tom actually lifted him past the 
leader. 

Tom won, and he was happy. Perhaps if he had 
known the consequences of winning he would have 
been inclined to curse the day he ever crossed a 
horse’s back. 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


31 


CHAPTER II. 

TOM FINDS HIMSELF IN A PECULIAR POSITION. 

In all Tom’s life he had never occupied what 
seemed to him so heroic a position as now. He had 
won a good race in really fine style, and he was ex- 
periencing all the joy which comes with the wild ap- 
plause of men who have won money. 

As he approached the grand stand he could see 
the excited crowds hustling each other to get nearer 
to the horse that had won money for them, and to 
cheer the boy who had ridden so well. His imagi- 
nation pictured the delight of the men who had pro- 
cured him to ride for them, and he felt that this, in- 
deed, was something to have lived for. 

How could anything that was to be found on a 
farm be compared with such an experience as this? 
Even the riding of a half-wild colt was as nothing 
to this. Tom was as exhilarated as a man with his 
first glass of champagne. He rode in to the paddock, 
and stood on the scales, with his saddle over his 
arm, to be weighed, with all the pride of an emperor. 

He saw nothing of the haggard chagrin of the 
two men who had put him up to lose the race, and 
who had been ruined by his good riding. Nothing 
but plaudits and smiles reached him, and he seemed 
stepping on air as he led his horse back to the 
stables. 

• The two men said nothing as they walked gloom- 
ily back to the stables with him, but when they stood 
alone there, and Tom was beginning to rub the 
horse down, one of them caught him by the shoul- 


32 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


der, and gripping it savagely, exclaimed, between 
his teeth : 

‘‘You think you’re blamed smart, don’t you? Who 
are you, anyway, say? Yuu cursed little sneak! 
Who put you up to this? Tell me, or I’ll break your 
little neck!” 

“Leave me alone ! What have I done?” cried Tom, 
half -whining with the pain, and half indignant at 
the suspicion that he had done something wrong. 

“None o’ that, now,” said the man, between his 
shut teeth, and shaking Tom much as a terrier 
would a rat. “Don’t play the greenie with me ; I’m 
too fly for any monkey business like that.” 

“I ain’t no more a monkey than yeou be,” re- 
torted Tom to this, his youthful wrath roused more 
by the tone than by the ill name however. 

He jerked his shoulder away from the man’s hand, 
and stood a short distance away in a wary attitude 
of defense. 

“Gimme that whip, Charlie,” said the man, reach- 
ing for a riding whip which lay across a pair of iron 
hooks. “Now, see here, my dandy,” he caught 
Tom, by a swift movement, by his arm, “do you see 
this here whip? Well, you’re a-goin’ to get it if you 
don’t give the whole business away. See? If it’s 
the last thing I do, an’ if I go to jail for it. I’ll take 
some satisfaction out o’ your hide. Savey? Now 
you talk!” 

The tenor of what he said Tom could not make 
out afc all, excepting that if he did not tell some- 
thing of which he knew nothing, he would be 
whipped. Tom knew, of course, that the man had 
no right to whip him, but it was equally clear to him 
that he would nevertheless do it. 

“I don’t know what you mean, ’deed I don’t,” he 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


33 


whined. ‘‘If I didn’t ride jest es yeou told me, I 
won the race, didn’t I? Ouch! Oh! Yeou leave 
me alone, will ye?” 

The man, in his anger at being put off, as he 
thought, had struck Tom several sharp blows with 
the whip, and Tom’s anger was immediately greater 
than his fear, and he accordingly struggled like a 
wild-cat, and screamed at the top of his lungs. 

“Leave him alone, Tom,” said the other man, who 
until now had been a silent but interested spectator 
of the scene ; “do you want to bring the whole coun- 
try down on us, say?” 

He caught the man’s arm as it was raised to strike 
again, and prevented him from accomplishing his 
purpose. 

“Let go o’ my arm,” said the man, with an oath. 
“Keep still, you whelp!” to Tom, who was strug- 
gling, but silent. “I don’t care if the whole State 
comes, I’m goin’ to have some satisfaction. Let go, 
I say, Charlie !” 

“You’re a fool, Tom! And what’s more, you’re a 
baby to squeal the minute you’re. caught. Let the 
boy alone ! You sha’n’t hit him again. No foolishness 
with me! Let the boy go. He’s all right. Go on, 
boy, and rub the horse down. Don’t mind, Tom, he 
is crazy with his good luck.” 

Our Tom, not by any means mollified, but not 
knowing what else to do, did as he was bidden, 
while the other and older Tom was led aside by his 
companion, who whispered in his ear : 

“Ain’t you got sense enough to see that the kid’s 
green. There’s only one job been put on us, an’ 
that’s the one we put on ourselves. You ain’t got 
no sand, you ain’t. Do you want the whole crowd 
to know our little game? What’s happened to you, 


34 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


anyway? You’ve bio wed in a couple o’ thousands — 
I’m gone dead broke. If you want to lay in with 
me, don’t play the baby again, d’ye hear? An’ don’t 
you say nothin’ to that boy. He can ride, he can, 
an’ he’s goin’ with me, if I can make him.” 

Tom could not hear the conversation of the two 
men, and if he had heard it could not have more 
than half understood it ; but he was sore over their 
treatment of him, and as he worked at the horse, 
rubbing him down with an affection and care which 
even his anger at the owners of him could not miti- 
gate, he turned it over in his mind how he would 
leave the stables as soon as he was through, and 
hurry away home, so as to get there before Miss 
Abby should do so. He trusted to being picked up 
on the road by some kind farmer, and thus be saved 
a good portion of the walk, though his sturdy young 
limbs would have been equal to it if the need had 
been. 

He was rubbing the horse down, and at the same 
time thinking of the indignity of his undeserved- 
stripes, when the man designated Tom left the stable, 
and the other, whom our Tom afterward learned to 
know as Charlie Porter, approached him, and said 
to him in that tone of good-fellowship which a man 
never uses to a boy but to -wheedle him : 

‘‘Boy, you mustn’t mind Tom; he’s a little off his 
base— been drinkin’ too much. I won’t let him touch 
you again.” 

“I won’t, nuther,” said Tom, stoutly. “I’m goin’ 
hum naow.” 

“Ain’t goin’ off mad, are you?” 

“Didn’t I do the best I could for yeou?” demanded 
Tom, with rising indignation, as he thought of his 
wrongs. “Didn’t I win the race?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


35 


‘^So you did, and as prettily as ever I saw a race 
won. Where did you learn to ride?’’ 

‘‘Didn’t learn nowlieres — jest picked it up.” 

“You love horses, I guess; that’s the reason you 
get along so well with them. Sorry you won’t stay 
till I can get some change, so I can give you a five- 
dollar bill for winning for me.” 

Five dollars! Tom flushed with delighted sur- 
prise. 

“If yeou think I earned it, sir,” he said, conscien- 
tiously. 

“Oh, you earned it fast enough. You’ll wait an’ 
get the money, won’t you? I’ll keep Tom out o’ the 
way, so you won’t see no more o’ him.” 

“All right, sir,” answered Tom, thinking that 
with a flve-dollar bill in his pocket he would be able 
to bear up under any punishment Miss Abby could 
inflict on him. 

“I’ll send one of the boys to help you,” said the 
man, as he left the stable. 

Outside of the stable the man called Tom was talk- 
ing with an abnormally sharp looking lad, perhaps 
two or three years older than our Tom. Porter joined 
them, and conversed for several minutes in whis- 
pers with the boy. Then the boy left them and went 
toward the stable where Tom was. 

“Do the thing right, Conkey,” said Porter to the 
lad, “and I’ll give you a Aver.” 

“Don’t you fret,” answered the boy, with a leer; 
“I’ll pump him dry fust, an’ All him up again after- 
ward.” 

Tom had recovered something of his equanimity 
by the time the new boy entered the stable, and -was 
whistling softly to himself as he thought of the flve- 
dollar bill he was to receive. 


36 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘Hello, Cully!” said Conkey, in a friendly tone. 

“Hello! But my name ain’t Cully,” answered 
Tom. 

“Oh, come off the roof!” exclaimed Conkey, with 
repressed delight at so much greenness. “What’s 
your name, then?” 

“Oh, Tim’lldo, I guess.” 

“Tim’ll do, eh? Oh, you’re fly, ain’t ye?” 

Conkey was working on the other side of the 
horse now, and the conversation took place during 
the progress of the rubbing down. Tom had no idea 
of what the boy meant by saying he was fly, but it 
was too evidently complimentary to cause him any 
dissatisfaction. 

“You could ’a won that race hands down if you’d 
’a wanted to, couldn’t ye?” said Conkey, after a 
short pause. 

“Do yeou think I could?” demanded Tom, not 
quite understanding what was meant by hands 
down. 

“Oh, ye needn’t be afraid o’ givin’ it away,” said 
Conkey; “I’m on the inside. Say, Tim, where did 
you learn to ride?” 

“Picked it up.” 

“Aw, come off! Bide like that, an’ want to tell 
me ye jest picked it up? Go way. Y^ou come out 
o’ some crack stable.” 

“ ’Deed I didn’t,” said Tom, not a little flattered. 

“Kever belonged to no stable?” demanded Con- 
key, incredulously. 

“Only the stable on the farm.” 

“Ye ain’t a-goin’ to tell me you come off’n a 
farm?” said Conkey. 

“Lived on a farm ever sence I can remember,” 
answered Tom. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


37 


“Get out ! Why, ye ride better^n me now. An' 
so ye’ve cut the farm, eh, an’ taken to the track? 
Well, I should think ye would. A feller wot can 
ride like you ain’t got no biz on a farm.” 

The boys were working on the forelegs of the 
horse now, and Conkey reached over and tapped 
Tom on the shoulder, and at the same time winked 
at him in an indescribably confidential and admir- 
ing way. 

“Oh, there ain’t no flies on you, I can see that. 
ITl bet ye a quarter to fi’pence that ye’ve given the 
whole biz the tra-la-la. Skipped — run away, eh? 
What? Oh, there ain’t many flies on me, bet yer 
life.” 

Now the manner and the tone of Conkey con- 
veyed to Tom the notion that in being suspected of 
running away he had risen immensely in the esti- 
mation of this very knowing lad. The imputation 
pleased him, but he was truthful, too, and so he an- 
swered hesitatingly : 

“Wa-al, yeou see I ain’t exactly run away. Miss 
Abby, that’s the woman I live with, said I shouldn’t 
come to the fair. But I came. She’ll be all-fired 
mad, I know; but I wasn’t goin’ to stay there 
alone.” 

“Well, I should smile! An’ so ye lit right out, eh? 
What’ll she do to ye when she lays hands on ye?” 

“I don’t know. Sometimes she says she’ll bind me 
to old Hammerhead. I’d run away for sure if she 
did that. Why, he’s the meanest man in the county.! 
Don’t give his stock half ’nough to eat.” 

“Mebbe she won’t know ye run away to come 
here?” 

“She seen me the first thing when I got here.” 

“The devil ye say! Then it’s all up with you. 


38 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


Cully. This is the place where they make all the 
deeds and contracts, ain’t it?” 

“The court house is here, yes.” 

“I thought so. WhatTl ye bet she ain’t bound ye 
to that feller already?” 

Tom turned pale at the suggestion. What, in fact, 
could be more likely? He had never seen Miss 
Abby more angry than she had been that morning. 

“If I thought so I’d never set foot on that farm 
again,” he said, vehemently. 

“I’ll tell ye wot I’ll do,” said Conkey, sympatheti- 
cally. “I’ll go over to the court-house an’ find out. 
Jest you give me her name an’ yourn and that fel- 
ler’s again, an’ I’ll know in fifteen minutes. You 
bet yer sweet life I don’t see no bloke wot can ride 
like you bound to no starvation farmer. You give 
me the straight tip, an’ I’ll get the whole biz dead 
to rights, an’ don’t ye forget it.” 

Now, here was a friend, indeed. How could Tom 
be otherwise than grateful to him for his proposed 
kindness? He told him his own name and Miss 
Abby’s and Solon Hammerhead’s; and as soon as 
the horse was properly groomed Conkey ran off say- 
ing he was going directly to the court-house. 

Of course he went nowhere near the court-house, 
but made a circuit, and met Charlie Porter behind 
one of the stables, and there told him all that he 
had drawn out of Tom, ending with : 

“So all we’ve got to do is to scare the life out of 
’im with a fairy story about how Hammerhead has 
’im, an’ he’ll go with you like a lamb. Wot’s yer lit- 
tle game with the kid, Charlie?” 

“Don’t you worry ’bout my game, Conkey. You 
just scare him into goin’ with me, and you get a 
fiver. See?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


39 


‘"I see. Don’t fret yer gizzard, Charlie; he’ll go 
with ye fast ’nough. 


CHAPTER III. 

A MESSAGE FEOM THE DEAD. 

Miss Abby had such a delightful time at the fair 
that whenever she thought of Tom it was to smile 
indulgently at his prank of getting Otis to take him 
to the fair after she had gone away without him. 

She and Otis glanced about now and then, think- 
ing to catch a glimpse of him, and intending to tell 
him that he was forgiven ; but they gave no consid- 
erable thought to him, believing that he would not 
be likely to grieve enough over his misdemeanor to 
deprive him of any pleasure. Sally, on the con- 
trary, completely spoiled her day in her endeavor to 
find Tom and convey to him the happy news that he 
was free to enjoy himself without fear of the conse- 
quences. 

Afternoon and time to return home came, how- 
ever, without bringing any sight of the boy, and 
then Otis and Miss Abby set out on a search for him 
through the fair-grounds, but without result. Not a 
si^n of him was to be seen or heard of, and Miss 
Abby exclaimed, at last : 

'‘My stars ! Otis, I dew believe that boy has gone 
an’ walked hum.” 

"Great Jehoshaphat! Miss Abby,” drawled Otis, 
"how yeou talk ! He couldn’t no more walk hum ’n 
I could fiy.” 

"Fer the land’s sake ! Otis, dew yeou think I’m 
a born fool? Don’t yeou suppose nobody ’d pick that 
boy up an’ give him a ride? Fer the land’s sake I” 


40 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘Come to think on’t,” admitted the abashed Otis, 
“I s’pose he could git a lift naow an’ then.” 

“Git a lift? Great suds and seeds ! I should think 
he could. I wouldn’t wonder a mite if he was hum 
’fore any on us, an’ a-waitin’ there in his old clothes 
ready to face me daown that he hadn’t been here 
to-day.” 

“Naow, Miss Abby,” remonstrated Otis, “I don’t 
think he’d do that.” 

“That’s because yeou don’t know him. He’d do 
anything, that boy would — Sally ! What on airth’s 
the matter with yeou? What air yeou sniveling 
abaout? Tom, I’ll be bound. I thought so. Naow, 
stop cryin’ an’ git into the wagon. There ain’t 
nothin’ the matter with him.” 

“Oh, Miss Abby,” sobbed Sally, “he might get lost 
or hurt, or he might — might ” 

“Fer the land’s sake! Why don’t the child speak? 
Might what?” 

“He was so afraid of what yeou’d do, that mebbe 
— mebbe ” 

“Will yeou say what yeou mean, or won’t yeou?” 

“Yeou — yeou — said as haow — haow yeou would 
bind him to — to Solon Hammerhead.” 

“My stars ’n garters! Yeou don’t suppose 

Why, Sally Greenaway ! Well, if I ever in all my 
born days ! As if I’d bind a hog to that man ! Don’t 
never say such a word to me again. Solon Hammer- 
head!” 

“Tom thought yeou meant it sometimes, anyhow.” 

“The more fool he! But what if he did?” 

‘‘He told me he’d ruther run away than be bound 
to that Hammerhead.” 

“Run away? He’s run away hum, that’s what 
he’s done. Run away ! Fer the land’s sake ! ” 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


41 


Somewhat comforted by Miss Abby’s positive 
manner, Sally dried her tears and tried to think 
that she would see Tom when she reached home ; 
but, try as she would, it was a disquieting circum- 
stance to her that during the whole of the day she 
had not caught a glimpse of him ; for it was his cus- 
tom when playing some prank on Miss Abby, to at 
least partially take Sally into his confidence. She 
had fully expected to have a secret signal of intelli- 
gence from him, and he had not given it to her. 

If Miss Abby shared any of Sally’s misgivings, 
which is quite unlikely, they would all have been 
driven out of her mind when she reached the village 
and stopped at the post-office, a thing she did more 
as a matter of form than with the expectation of re- 
ceiving anything; for, excepting her paper, which 
came on Wednesday nights, and which Otis Tucker 
invariably carried to her, she did not receive one 
thing a year from there. 

This evening she drew up in front of the store, and 
sent Sally to ask if there was anything for her, 
while she sat in her w agon with as much solemnity 
as if she fully expected a whole batch of mail mat- 
ter. She could have driven off again without any 
disturbance of her composure if Sally had come out 
of the post-office empty-handed ; but when she saw 
Sally coming out with a letter in her hand, she be- 
gan to fidget, and exclaim, and gape, with an entire 
forgetfulness of her dignity. 

“Fer me, Sally?” she exclaimed, before Sally was 
within ten yards of the wagon. ‘‘Fer me? Fer the 
land’s sake! I wonder who could a wrote tome? 
Give it here, Sally. Climb up an’ hold them reins 
while I look at it. Postmarked New York. Well, I 
declare to goodness if I ever expected to git a letter 


42 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


from there ! For the land’s sake ! It might be from 
Philip; but it doesn’t look like his handwrite. Not 
that I ever see it to know, but he didn’t look like he 
could write like that. My stars, Sally ! can’t yeou 
hold that horse for one minit!” 

Still wondering and guessing, she tore the envel- 
ope open in the fashion of a person fearful of set- 
ting off a spring gun. Otis Tucker had drawn up 
alongside of her in the meantime, and his first ex- 
clamation was: 

‘'Wa-al, I swow. Miss Abby, yeou don’t mean ter 
say yeou’ve got a letter!” 

“Upon my word, Otis Tucker, anybody ’d think — 
well, I never ! Is there any reason, I should like to 
know, why I shouldn’t get a letter? Dear me!” 

And the good spinster bridled and tried to look as 
if receiving letters was a commonplace matter with 
her. 

The envelope contained two letters apparently. 
One of them was somewhat yellow and soiled, and 
the other was fresh and crisp. Miss Abby looked at 
both with a sort of dismay, and then, as the soiled 
one opened as she held it, she glanced at it. But no 
sooner had her eye fallen on the first line than she 
gasped with astonishment, and rapidly ran her eye 
down the page to the bottom. Then she turned to 
Otis. 

“It’s from Philip. I had no more idea— upon my 
word! Well, did yeou ever!” 

“Bead it. Miss Abby, an’ see what he says,” sug- 
gested Otis. 

“For the land’s sake, Otis Tucker, did yeou think 
I was goin’ to tear it up without reading on it? 
Upon my word!” 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


43 


“I only meant ’’ began Otis, deprecatingly, 

but Miss Abby shut him up indignantly : 

“Yeou only meant! I wonder if yeou know what 
yeou did mean? Naow, do give me a chance to read 
it/’ 

“Dear Abby,” the letter began, “I write to you 
now, as I promised I would, because the time has 
come when I shall be glad if you will take my little 
Abby to your home and heart. I am afraid I have 
not been the best of parents for her, but my life 
would have been a constant misery without her. 
Take her, Abby, and be to her all that her mother 
would have been. I shall be with my dear wife 
when you read this, for it will not be sent to you 
until I am dead. I am dying now, and cannot live 
more than two weeks. I am glad to go, for I wish 
to meet my dear wife again, and I know our Abby 
will be better with you than with me if I could live. 
Please send for her as soon as you receive this, for 
she will be among strangers. She will be with Mrs. 
Kate Mullaney at 337 Oliver street until she is called 
for. I cannot write any more. Good-by. Your 
affectionate brother, Philip Denton.” 

The tears by this time were streaming down Miss 
Abby’s face, and she turned to Otis, and said, quaver- 
ingly: 

“He’s dead, Otis, an’ that dear child is all alone in 
that great big wicked city. Otis, I am going to New 
York to fetch her.” 

“You go to New York, Miss Abby!” cried Otis in 
dismay. 

“Yes.” 

“Why, Miss Abby!” 

“Naow, yeou needn’t say a word, Otis Tucker, fer 
I’m goin’. For the land’s sake ! d’ye think I’d let that 
dear child stay there? Well, I never ! Here, read it, 
an’ don’t sit there gapin’ like a born idiot.” 

She gave him the letter, and he read it, while she 


44 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


sat wiping her eyes and making a series of ex- 
clamations after her way. Otis read the letter 
through once and again, looking very much mysti- 
fied all the time, and seeming so very slow about 
making an appropriate observation, that Miss Abby 
cried out : 

‘‘My stars, Otis Tucker! don’t be so everlastin' 
mysterious over it.” 

“But, Miss Abby,” drawled Otis. 

“Wa al?” 

“This letter was writ two years ago.” 

“Two years? The man’s crazy! How on airth, 

Otis Tucker, can yeou tell when For the land’s 

sake! Two years — as if ” 

“But, Miss Abby, yeou can see fer yeourself. 
Here’s the date.” 

He handed her the letter, and there, surely 
enough, was the date two years old. She looked at 
it, and then at Otis over her glasses. 

“Wa-al!” was all she could think to say. 

“Maybe there’s something in the other letter. Miss 
Abby,” suggested Sally. 

“Wa-al, there! the child’s brighter’n any on us,” 
said Miss Abby, taking up the other letter. 

. “Miss Abigail Prue : 

“Dear Madam : — The inclosed letter has fallen into 
my hands quite by accident, and although it is now 
two years since it was written, I send it to you, hop- 
ing it is not yet too late to rescue the child. I have* 
sent to the address given in the letter, but the' 
woman, Mrs. Mullaney, has moved from there. and3 
I have been unable to obtain any trace of the child. 

I would advise that you send some authorized person 
here to hunt for the child. I will give you all the 
aid in my power. Very truly yours, 

“Sarah Wilson, 

‘‘Matron Children’s Mission.” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


45 


'‘What does it say, Miss Abby?’' demanded Otis, 
seeing that she had read the letter, but seemed too 
dazed to speak. 

“Eead it,” she answered, as she handed it to him. 

"Seems pretty bad, don’t it. Miss Abby,” said he, 
after reading it. "What ye goin’ to do ’about it?” 

"What am I goin’ to do, Otis Tucker? I’m goin’ 
to git some smart man that’s traveled, an ’send him 
to the city to look for Mandy’s child, if it takes all 
the money I can rake and scrape.” 

"Who’ll yeou git. Miss Abby?” 

"Wa-al, I won’t git nobody araound here. I’ll go 
to Burlington — that’s what I’ll do, an’ git somebody 
there. An’ what’s more. I’ll go to-night.” 

"I wouldn’t do that. Miss Abby. It’s late naow, 
and it’ll be later ’fore yeou git back.” 

"Wa-al, I think anybody but a born fool would 
know that much. Later! My stars! Dew yeou 
think I could sleep a wink, knowin’ Mandy’s baby 
was all alone in New York, sleepin’ on the streets, 
for all I know? No, Otis Tucker; I’m goin’ to Bur- 
lington, straight. Yeou can go on to hum, an’ take 
Sally with yeuu. She’ll give yeou some supper. No 
need for yeou to starve because I ain’t there. Sally, 
git in with Otis.” 

"But where’ll yeou go to git anybody?” demanded 
Otis, to whom the spinster’s quickness of decision 
was always a marvel. 

"Don’t yeou worry abaout me. I’ll find some- 
body. I’ll go to Judge Braown. He knew father, 
an’ he’ll tell me who to go to.” 

"That’s it. Miss Abby,” said Otis, greatly re- 
lieved. "Go to Judge Braown; he’ll tell yeou what 
to do.” 

So Sally got into the wagon with Otis, and Miss 


46 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


Abby turned her horse’s head toward Burlington. 
The old horse turned very reluctantly, but Miss 
Abby touched him up with her whip, and pres- 
ently the faithful creature was trotting, in his slow 
but steady way, back on the road he had just come. 

Judge Brown was a deliberate man, slow of speech 
and chary of words, but full of wisdom. He listened 
to all Miss Abby had to say, read her letters, and 
realized the hopelessness of the case. 

“I can’t encourage you to hope to find the child,” 
he said. 

‘‘But she’s Mandy’s baby, judge.” 

“And you won’t be satisfied until you have tried 
everything, I suppose? Of course not.” 

“Of course not.” 

“And you want me to recommend somebody for 
the task of finding her?” 

“Yes, judge, if yeou’ll be so kind. Yeou see, I kem 
to yeou because, bein’ yeou knew father- — ” 

“Quite so. You might send to one of the private 
detective agencies, but I do not think much of them. 
There’s Abner Walton. Do you know him?” 

“Used to be constable?” 

“Yes, he was constable for a term or two, and 
he’s been to both Hew York and Boston. You might 
send him. You’ll find him at the Green Mountain 
House, most likely.” 

Abner was at the Green Mountain House, and, to 
be specific, was in the bar-room, drinking with 
some friends he had just made, when a boy came in 
to tell him that Miss Abigail Prue wanted to see 
him. He would have sent the good lady a saucy 
message, but the two men he was drinking with, 
and who had made signs to each other at the sound 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


47 


of the name, urged him to go and see what she 
wanted. 

After some hesitation he went out, closely fol- 
lowed by both of the men, who kept close to him, 
and listened intently to all that was said between 
the two. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN THE TOILS. 

There are worse neighborhoods in New York city, 
perhaps, than Hester street, but there are portions 
of Hester street that will hold their own with the 
worst. 

It was in a foul-smelling room in one of these 
places, about two weeks after the county fair at 
Burlington, that a number of youths were sitting, 
playing cards, telling vile stories, and relating ex- 
periences of successful crime. 

The heart might grow sick and the blood curdle 
at the stories circulating in that assemblage of boys 
not the oldest of whom was yet sixteen, but there 
could be little doubt of the substantial truthfulness 
of what was related. 

A black bottle and a broken tumbler stood on the 
rickety table about which the boys were congre- 
gated, and as one of the most depraved-looking of 
the lads finished the story of a particularly neat piece 
of sneak thievery, he poured out a glass of the 
liquor from the bottle and tossed it off with the most 
approved air, smacking his lips after it with an ex- 
pression of satisfaction, which required no little 
courage, sincg the stuff fairly burned hi^ throat as 
it went down; 


48 


THE COUNTY FAIE. 


“Here, Tim,” he cried, with a dreadful oath, as he 
clapped the glass back on the table, “yez ain’t 
tetched a drop o’ the bug juice yet. Swally some 
quick, now, or I’ll ram the bottle down yer little 
throat.” 

The other boys laughed hilariously at this, and 
turned to where a lad, certainly not more than ten 
years of age, sat with pale countenance and sleepy 
eyes. It was no other than Tom Greenaway, now 
known as Tim the Tanner, which latter name had 
been bestowed upon him by Conkey Bill, who was 
in fact the last speaker. 

“I don’t want none,” said Tim, as he may as well 
be called. 

“He’s sick from the tobaccy,” cried one of the 
lads, jeeringly, at the same time puffing some in the 
poor boy’s face. 

“Ho, I ain’t,” said Tim, with a ghastly attempt at 
bravery. 

“Then why don’t ye take a swig like a man?” de- 
manded Conkey Bill, who had for some time been 
playing the part of mentor to Tom. 

“Cos I don’t like it, that’s why.” 

“Cos you’re afraid, that’s why,” retorted Conkey 
Bill. 

“I ain’t no more afraid than you are,” said Tim, 
reaching* out his hand for the bottle, and pouring 
some liquor out of it with an unsteady hand, amid 
the murmured applause of the onlookers. 

Urged on by the fear of seeming afraid, and the 
desire to deserve the plaudits of the boys, he drank 
down the vile stuff at the risk of strangling him- 
self. Having gained his point, Conkey Bill turned 
his own and the attention of the others from him by 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


49 


asking of the oldest boy the story of one of his ex- 
ploits which had landed him in jail. 

Tim made a brave attempt to follow the story, 
but the fumes of the bad tobacco, combining with 
the vile stuff he had drank, caused him to feel so 
badly that he stole out of the room unobserved. He 
could hardly walk straight, but he was less intoxi- 
cated than sick, and he was no sooner in the open 
air, of which there was not any too fresh, than he 
was obliged to lean against the house to prevent 
himself from falling. 

How he wished then that he had never left his 
good country home. But it was too late to think of 
that. He had left it, and he would not go begging 
back. That was the way Conkey Bill put it to him, 
and it had fastened itself in his mind so firmly that 
no longing for the old farm could dislodge it. 

He had intended to take a walk, but he was too 
faint for that, and he turned about and crawled up 
the stairs of the house to the room occupied by him- 
self, in company with and by the grace of Charlie 
Porter, who had given him ^ his winning mount at 
the fair. 

He went up slowly and quietly only because he 
was too sick to go any other way, and that is why 
he heard the voices of two men talking in the room 
he was going to. He stopped and listened in order 
that he might make out who the companion of Por- 
ter was ; but as he listened he had other cause for 
continuing to listen. So interested was he that he 
even forgot his illness, and softly approached the 
door and bent his head to the key-hole. 

‘‘Hadn’t we better go slow, Tom? The blamed 
fool may be able to get more from the old woman.” 

“I tell ye he can’t. Didn’t he say the old woman 


50 


TEE COUNTY FAIB. 


had mortgaged her farm to get this money. Got it 
from that feller Tim was so afraid of — Haminer- 
head, I think, the name was. The old gal said it 
was all she could raise.’’ 

“This makes a thousand now, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, three hundred before and seven hundred 
he’s got now.” 

“The old gal must want the baby awful bad to 
blow in the whole farm for her.” 

“Her sister’s baby, it is.” 

“Well, if you’re sure he can’t git any more, there’s 
no use foolin’ over this lot. We’ll take him to Bar- 
ney Kiley’s room and hocus him. He’ll never dare 
to give the thing away. He hasn’t looked for the 
baby at all, has he?” 

“Hary a look, but he’s sent a whole pile o’ stuff to 
the old gal about what he’s been doin’, so he won’t 
dare to squeal.” 

It was all clear to Tim in a moment. Miss Abby 
had commissioned some man to find her sister’s 
baby, and she had mortgaged her farm to procure 
the money. These two men were engaged in robbing 
the man. 

There was not a moment of hesitation in the mind 
of Tim. If it had been his last act, he would have 
prevented the consummation of the plot he had 
heard discussed. 

It was evident he had heard all that was of conse- 
quence, but his head was not clear enough to en- 
able him to decide on the best step to take to thwart 
the scoundrels and save to Miss Abby her money— 
perhaps even to open thus the way to his return to 
the farm. 

He straightened himself up, and was about to 
turn to go down stairs, when the door of the room 


TBE COUNTY FAlIt. 


61 


was flung open, and the man, Tom, stood on the 
threshold. An instant later he had Tim by the col- 
lar, and uttering violent oaths, was shaking him as 
if he would dislocate his neck. 

“Listenin’, eh? You little whelp!” 

It was a critical moment for Tim. He was not 
afraid of what Tom might do to him, but he greatly 
feared being prevented from doing anything to save 
Miss Abby’s money. A sudden inspiration, born of 
a fact very close to him at that moment, came to his 
aid. 

He assumed an expression, which unfortunately 
he had seen on the faces of men only too often of 
late — that of drunken imbecility, and stammered : 

“Lemme alone. Ben hav’n good time, Conkey 
Bill.” 

The imitation was vastly better than he would 
have been able to effect had it not been for the con- 
dition he was in. And, moreover, it had been pre- 
arranged between Charlie Porter and Conkey Bill 
that the latter was to do his best in the way of 
Tim’s corruption, so that Porter was now willing to 
accept Tim’s simulated condition for his real one. 

“Leave him alone, Tom; he’s all right,” he 
laughed. “Come in and go to bed, Tim. Sleep it 
off. We’ll make a man of you yet.” 

He removed Tom’s hand from Tim’s collar, and 
shoved the latter into the room. Then, with another 
laugh at the boy’s supposed condition, he went down 
stairs. Tom was less credulous, or perhaps more 
careful, for after going down a step or two he re- 
turned, and taking the key from the lock inside of 
the room inserted it on the outside and turned it. 

Tim was locked in. 


52 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


CHAPTER V. 

IIM DOES HIS BEST. 

It was not yet dark, but it was growing dusk, and 
Tim knew that he had no time to waste if he hoped 

to do anything to save Miss Abby's money. 

This would be just the time for the two men to 
put their plan in operation, for Tim had already 
grown wise enough in the ways of the wicked to 
know that at that time of the day there would be 
very few persons in the saloon. 

He waited only long enough to hear the foot- 
steps of the men die out in the hall below before he 
set to work to free himself from his confinement. 

A little violence even at his youthful hands would 
have effected his object, but he was desirous that 
no one should know of his escape, and perhaps 
thwart it. 

Tim did not know of the maxim that “out of evil 
good may come,” but he demonstrated it by recall- 
ing some of the stories he had heard from the de- 
praved lads down stairs about burglarious exploits, 
and out of them he picked an idea to aid him now. 

He looked around for something to take the 
place of a jimmy, with which to pry open the door. 
The rung of a rickety chair offered itself, and he 
wrenched it from its place in an instant. 

With some difficultv he sharpened one end into a 
wedge-shape by means of his pocket-knife. This 
he inserted in the crack of the door as far as it 
would go, and then began to pry. 

So far fortune was on his side, and his first les- 



“NOW YOU TALK!” AND THE MAN STHUCK TOM SEVERAL 
SHARP BLOWS WITH HIS WHIP.-(P. 32.) 



64 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


son in practical burglary was a success; for the 
door yielded to the pressure, the bolt came clear of 
the catch, and a pull brought the door inward. 

He was quite gleeful over his success, and was 
preparing for a stealthy run down the stairs, when 
the face of Conkey Bill appeared on the staircase. 

The face was blank at first, but the blankness 
made room for surprise, which, in its turn, yielded 
to a mocking leer, as the knowing youth realized 
the opportuneness of his arrival on the scene of 
Tim’s first attempt at house-breaking. 

“Well, I’m bio wed, if he ain’t done the trick with 
a rung!” cried Bill, with a hoarse laugh. 

Tim, at a loss what to expect from Bill’s appear- 
ance, stood on the threshold in an attitude of inde- 
cision. 

“Got here just in time, didn’t I?” said Bill, with a 
jeering laugh. 

“Wot d’ye mean?” 

“I mean ye’ll walk right back inter that room. 
See?” 

“Wot fer?” 

“Because that’s where ye belong. See?” 

“I guess not. Lemme go down, d’ye hear?” 

“Oh, I ain’t deef. Ho, ye don’t!” as Tim made a 
dash to pass him. 

His greater bulk forced Tim back, and presently 
the two boys were struggling inside the room, 
where Bill had pushed Tim. Tim had had no notion 
of trying his strength with Bill’s, and at any ordin- 
ary time would have yielded to the latter on the 
strength of his reputed prowess ; but now, after the 
first undecided moment, he threw himself into the 
struggle, determined to escape if it was a possible 
thing. 


TUE COUNTY FAIR. 


55 


It was easier than he had hoped it would be, for 
Bill had not the full use of his strength in conse- 
quence of the efforts he had been making, by means 
of the black bottle, to prove his manhood. There 
was a short scuffle, during which Bill did what he 
could to frighten Tim by uttering a string of start- 
ling oaths, but Tim had grown used to swearing, 
and persisted so successfully that presently his op- 
ponent lay on the floor with his head bleeding from 
its violent contact with the edge of the bed. 

Then Tim ran off as rapidly as he could, and made 
his way easily to the street, where he still did not 
feel safe until he had put a block between himself 
and the house. 

Having turned the corner, he stopped only long 
enough to collect his ideas, and then hurried to 
where he knew Barney Riley’s saloon to be on the 
Bowery. He was not certain what he would do 
when he reached there, but he wished to see if the 
two men and their victim were in the saloon. 

It was now the time of day when the lights were 
ablaze, and the great east-side thoroughfare was 
crowded, and though the country boy was a little 
confused by the glare and bustle, he was glad of it, 
for it was an assurance that he would have plenty 
of help if there should be need of it. 

He opened the door of the saloon and peered in. 
The two men were there, as was also their victim. 
All three were drinking, and for a moment Tim 
could not see the face of the stranger, though he was 
already versed enough in city ways to know tliat 
he was from the country. Presently the man turned, 
and then Tim rceognized his face as familiar, 
though he could not remember his name. 

What to do next? He softly closed the door, and 


66 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


stepped back for a moment’s reflection. Of course ! 
It was odd he had not thought of it before. Tell 
the whole story to a policeman. 

Feeling very much relieved, he kept his eye rov- 
ing up and down the street for one of the blue-coated 
guardians of the city, and presently espying one, ran 
to him and began his story at once. 

“Say, mister, there’s a man bein’ robbed down 
here. Won’t you come an’ save him?” 

“Where?” demanded the policeman, looking at 
Tim as if he was of a mind to take him by the col- 
lar and drag him to iail for speaking to him. 

“In Barney Riley’s saloon. Right down here, 
please.” 

“Ah, what ye givin’ me? Fust thing you know I’ll 
run you in. See? Go on, now!” and he threatened 
Tim with his club. 

Tim drew back, but thinking the man merely 
doubted his word, repeated in the most earnest man- 
ner : 

“True an’ honest, they is, mister. The man’s 
from up in Verihont, an’ he’s got a lot o’ money; 
an’ they’re goin’ to hocus him an’ steal it. Won’t 
you come an’ see fer yerself ? I know the woman 
the money belongs to. She brought me up, she did. 
Won’t ye come?’ 

“Get out o’ this, ye little bla’guard, or I’ll run ye 
in. Go on., now!” and he caught Tim by the collar 
and hustled him roughly into a side street. “If I 
see the likes o’ ye around here agen. I’ll run ye in 
sure. See?” 

Tim had not been long enough in the city to 
understand by all this that Barney Riley had proba- 
bly “seen” that policeman. He thought only that 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


67 


the man would not believe him, and he despaired of 
persuading him to do so. 

He pretended to go away, and then evading the 
policeman, ran desperately back to the saloon and 
tried to think of some way of saving Miss Abby’s 
money. He might have appealed to some of the 
passers-by, but a glance into the faces of a few of 
them as they hurried along put him out of conceit 
with that notion. 

The poor boy was by this time in a real agony of 
mind over the situation. Gratitude for past kind- 
ness more than hope for the future made him anx- 
ious to save Miss Abby’s money, and he almost cried 
at his powerlessness. It seemed so unreal, too, with 
a street teeming with people, that he should not dare 
to ask one to help him. 

He slightly opened the door of the saloon, and 
through the crack he perceived that there still stood 
the three men, the stranger by this time very much 
overcome, but apparently resisting the efforts of 
the other two to induce him to sit at a table in the 
back part of the place. . 

The money was evidently not gone yet, and a 
desperate resolution took possession of Tim. He 
drew a deep breath, gulped down a lump in his 
throat, and ran into the saloon and up to the trio. 
He caught the stranger by the skirt of his coat, 
and cried out : 

'‘Look out for your money, mister! These men 
want to steal it I” 

The miserable wretch was too drunk to compre- 
hend the meaning of the hastily uttered words, but 
Tim had no opportunity to say anything more, for 
Tom and Charlie Porter turned on him and caught 
him between them, Tom immediately cuffing and 


58 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


kicking him with a heartiness that made Tim cry 
out with pain. 

He struggled, and writhed, and squirmed until he 
had freed himself, when he darted for the door and 
flew out of it, pursued to the threshold by Tom. 
Hurt, frightened and crying, Tim would not yet give 
up the hope of doing something, and took up his po- 
sition on the curbstone, wiping his eyes and wonder- 
ing if there was one honest man in the great city. 

He was quickly surrounded by a crowd of boys, 
all anxious to know the meaning of Tim’s ejection 
from the saloon ; but he was wise enough not to at- 
tempt to conflde in them, and it would not have 
availed him at all if he had had older persons to tell 
his story to, for at the first sign of a crowd, the 
same policeman to whom he had vainly appealed be- 
fore swooped down on the group, and with a quick 
comprehension of some aggressive act on the part 
of Tim, made a dash at him. Tim, with a cry of 
terror, evaded him and flew up the street with a 
wildly beating heart, turning first one corner and 
then another, in the firm belief that if caught he 
would be locked up, his knowledge of the powers of 
the police being derived mainly from the exagger- 
ated stories of his recent associates. 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH TIM MEETS WITH TAGGS. 

In utter despair of being able to do anything to 
save the money, and filled with the idea of escaping 
the policeman, who showed so willing a disposition 
to arrest him, Tim ran from street to street, doubling 
on himself so often that he finally lost himself. 


THE COUNTY FAIU. 


69 


That, however, was a small matter, for he had no 
place to go to now. He would not return to the men 
whom he knew very well for scoundrels, and he 
knew of no other place. 

There was nothing for him to do but wander aim- 
lessly about, and this he did — a hopeless, heart-sick 
boy, who would have given anything to have been 
able to sit once more at the well-filled table of Miss 
Abby, with the prospect of a clean, soft bed to sleep 
on. 

Now there was nothing before him in the nature 
of either eating or a bed, and he was both hungry 
and tired, as well as half sick. He loitered along, 
resting himself now and then, and looking into 
bakers’ windows with such a longing as he had 
never before experienced. 

He wandered about in this way until he was so 
weary that he could walk no longer. He found him- 
self in an open square, in which were a number of 
benchs, the greater number of which were occupied 
by dirty or seedy-looking men and boys, most of 
whom seemed to be trying to crowd as much rest as 
possible into the present. 

Tim did not notice the peculiarity of the occu- 
pants of the benches. All that he saw was that here 
was a place where he might rest, and with a weary 
sigh he dropped upon one of the benches, and, de- 
spite the cold and his hunger, was soon fast asleep. 

It seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his 
eyes when he was roughly roused. He looked 
sleepily up to see a policeman looming before him, 
and he was dimly conscious that the other occu- 
pants of the benches were moving away. 

“Come! Get out o’ here. Can’t sleep here any 
longer, you know. Get up!” 


60 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


“Won’t you please let me stay here, mister? I’m 
so tired!” pleaded Tim. 

“Ah, what’s the matter wid yer? What ye givin’ 
me? Move on, now!” and as Tim, too stiff to move 
readily, did not jump at once, the burly fellow 
caught him by the collar, and actually tossed him 
off the bench. 

“Where’ll I go?” sobbed Tim. 

“Go? Why don’t you go to the Newsboys’ Lodg- 
ing House? It’ll only cost yer a nickel for a bed.” 

“I ain’t got a nickel,” said Tim, hopelessly. 

“Ye don’t think I’m a-goin’ to give ye one, do ye? 
Say? Go on now!” and he shoved Tim with his club. 

Poor Tim ! he saw there was nothing for it but to 
find some other shelter or sleeping place for the 
night, and, with an utter hopelessness of finding 
any such, he limped slowly away. He might have 
endeavored to dodge the policeman had he not no- 
ticed that all the benches were empty, indicating 
that the more experienced had completely aban- 
doned them. 

He wandered about aimlessly for a time, and then 
in sheer desperation sought shelter under the stoop 
of a house not far from the park he had been driven 
from. Some other lads had evidently been driven to 
the same haven, for the place was already so full 
that his coming was greeted with a sleepy protest. 
He paid no attenion to it, however, but sank wear- 
ily down, and soon was fast asleep. 

He would have slept far into daylight had he not 
been aroused by the rude practical jokes of his fel- 
low-occupants, who had awakened, and, with the 
instinct of the city gamin, knew him for a stranger. 

Tim was wise enough not to attempt to resent 
their tricks, and got away from them as soon as pos- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


61 


eible. He felt better than when he had lain down, 
but was sore and stiff from his fatigue and expos- 
ure. He was hungry, too, and would have given 
anything he possessed for a cup of the coffee he 
could smell as he passed the cheap restaurants so 
numerous in the side streets around the City Hall. 

After a while he found himself on Park Row, 
which, even at that early hour, was crowded with 
people going to work. In his desolation he stood 
watching the crowd as it poured along, and in his 
heart en^^ied the newsboys as they cried their pa- 
pers and frolicked with each other as though they 
knew no such thino: as care. 

They were ragged and dirty enough, but they 
must be well fed, he thought, or they would not be 
so happy. He had yet to learn that they were too 
accustomed to hunger to let it interfere with their 
play. 

Life seemed an unutterably desolate thing to him 
then, and with all his native courage he could not 
help thinking continually of sister Sally and the 
good home he had left in Vermont, and the tears 
were very near the surface. He crossed over to the 
park, and sat down on one of the benches, wonder- 
ing hopelessly what he should do. 

While he wondered, looking listlessly around the 
while, a little girl passed him, with a basket of 
matches and shoe-strings on her thin arm. He only 
noticed her. because she was so small and so young. 
She seemed perfectly self-reliant, however, and 
there was a singular mixture of baby innocence 
and precocious knowledge on her pinched face. She 
did not seem more than six years old. 

Tim watched her as she went along toward the 
street, with a sort of curiosity to know how so tiny 


62 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


a thing could get along. She had not gone very far 
before she was accosted by three boys, who seemed 
to be asking her for something out of her basket— a 
match, as Tim subsequently learned. She refused 
it, and they endeavored to take it by force. 

She fought hard for her property, but it would 
have gone hard with her had not Tim, with an in- 
stinctive chivalry, jumped from his seat and ran to 
her aid. It was a timely diversion for the little girl, 
but an unfortunate one for Tim. The boys would 
have gone out of their way to seek a fight, so, of 
course, they joyfully hailed one that came to them. 
They set on Tim unanimously, and, while the little 
girl ran way, administered to him a thorough beat- 
ing. He came out of the fracas with a bleeding 
nose and a pair of blackened and swelling eyes. 

Having had five minutes of unalloyed joy, the 
three boys went about their business of selling pa- 
pers, while Tim, sobbing more with rage and morti- 
fication than pain, retired to nurse his wounds on 
one of the benches. He had not sat there long be- 
fore a shrill little voice said to him : 

‘‘Got it right in de neck, didn’t ye? Dey was tree 
to one, anyhow. Yer could ’a licked ’em if dey was 
yer size. Sellin’ papers?” 

Tim looked up, showing his face for the first time, 
whereupon this precocious child exclaimed, sympa- 
thetically : j 

“Dey put a head on yer, didn’t dey— sa-ay?” 

Tim stopped sobbing, and looked at her wonder- 
ingly, for this infantile ease of manner startled him. 

And then, as he still did not answer her, and as 
silence seemed abhorrent to her, she went on again : 

“Where’s yer papers? Ain’t sold out, are yer?” 

“I hav’n’t any papers. I ain’t got nothin’ to do.” 


THE COUNTY FAIN. 


63 


“Got a job?’’ she asked, looking over him more 
critically. 

“No,” answered Tim, glad of somebody to talk to 
of his troubles, “I ain’t got no job nor nothin’. I 
ain’t got no home, and I ain’t had nothin’ to eat 
sence yesterday noon.” 

The little girl looked at him in silence for several 
moments, and by the expression in her large blue 
eyes, Tim expected some sympathetic outburst from 
her. Instead of that, she finally cocked her wise 
little head on one side, and delivered herself in this 
wise : 

“Den why don’t yer get somethin’ to eat? If ye 
ain’t got no money, why don’t yer get some? 
That’s what I’d do.” 

“How’m I to get any money?” demanded Tim, 
half indignantly. 

“Get a job, of course,” answered the little crea- 
ture. “Carry a bundle for some swell. Go to the 
ferry an’ lay around for a bloke wid a valise. See?' 
Oh, there ain’t no flies on me!” 

“I never thought o’ that,” said Tim, eagerly. 
“D’ye think I can do it?” 

“What’s de reason yer can’t? I’ve done it.” 

“Have ye? Where is the ferry? What ferry? 
Will ye show me how to get there?” 

“Come on. What’s yer name?” 

“Tim— Tim the Tanner, they call me.” 

“H’m! Where d’ye come from?” 

“Vermont.” 

“Who keeps it?” 

“Keeps what?” 

“De what-ye-call-it. 

“Vermont?” queried Tim, looking down on the 


64 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


little thing trudging by his side, as if he could not 
comprehend what she meant. 

“Yas; where is it? Who keeps it? Saloon, ain’t 
it?” 

“No. It’s a State.” 

“What’s that?” 

Tim looked at her with a sort of pity for her ignor* 
ance, but when he searched his mind for an explana- 
tion of what a State is, he found that it was not 
there, and so he changed the subject by asking: 

“What’s your name?” 

“Taggs.” 

“Taggs?” 

“Um. My, but you’ve got a head on yer. Say! 
Strike a woman fer a bundle, an’ when yer carryin’ 
it, give her a racket. Tell her yer ole man kem 
home las’ night wid de jim-jams, an’ laid ye out.” 

“What fer?” 

“What fer? Why, won’t she come down wid de 
rocks? Oh, there ain’t no flies on me!” 

It seemed a matter of so much pride to the little 
creature that there were, “no flies on her,” that Tim 
found himself wishing that he could prove himself 
equally free of them. It was extremely mortifying 
to him to have the baby by his side acting the part 
of tutor to his ignorance, and the desire to prove 
himself more knowing, imbued him with a new 
courage. After all, why should he be down- 
hearted, when such a mite as she was so full of re- 
sources? With his courage, something of his old 
habit returned to him, and noticing that the basket 
on his companion’s arm seemed to weigh heavily 
there, he offered to carry it for her. 

“Oh, I guess not,” she said, with a knowing leer, 
“Some other day. There ain’t no flies on me,” and 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


65 


she shifted the basket to the arm farthest from him, 
and winked at him. 

‘‘Yer don’t think I’d take yer basket, do yer, 
Taggs?” he demanded, with a grieved air. 

‘‘Yer kin jest bet yer sweet life yer wouldn’t,” 
was the emphatic response of the knowing Taggs. 

Tim was very much hurt at this distrust of him, 
but he made no protest against it, and presently, 
under the able generalship of the baby, was trudg- 
ing along with a heavy bundle by the side of a stout 
woman who was going to the elevated railroad sta- 
tion. 

Taggs ran along by his side, as full of interest in 
the event as if she was to be the gainer by it. 
The stout woman noticed her, with her great blue 
eyes staring out of her thin, pinched face, and she 
asked Tim who she was. Before Tim was able to 
answer, 'the little creature piped up in her shrill 
treble : 

“I’m his sister, missis. He takes care o’ the hull 
lot of us, he does. Look at the pair o’ eyes me fader 
gave him las’ night, when he kem home wid his 
skin full. Me mudder sick in bed, too!” 

Tim looked at the tiny liar with a stare of horror, 
but Taggs was putting the finishing touch to the 
romance by digging into her eyes with a grimy fist. 
Tim was too much out of breath to deny the story, 
and the stout woman had thrust a quarter into his 
hand and taken the bundle away at the foot of the 
station stairs before he could even make up his mind 
what to do. 

Taggs hardly waited for the woman to be well out 
of sight before she gave way to her mirth over the 
successful deception. Tim did not altogether like 
this way of obtaining money, but luck was with him 


66 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


for the moment, and before he could say a word the 
quick eyes of Taggs had noticed a ‘'swell” carrying 
a valise, and had directed his attention to it also. 
He jumped to the man’s side, and a second later was 
bending under his new load. 

Taggs either had no opportunity, or thought it 
would be useless to try her arts on this subject, so 
Tim received hut ten cents for this “job.” And 
this was his last. He tried several times unsuccess- 
fully, and then told Taggs that he was going to get 
something to eat. 

She led him to where he could get “a stavin’ big 
plate o’ beans an’ a cup o’ coffee for ten cents,” and 
in his gratitude to her he asked her to eat with him, 
an invitation she accepted as readily as it was 
given. 


CHAPTER VII. 

WHICH GIVES A SHORT ACCOUNT OF TIM’S CITY LIFE. 

Hungry as he was, Tim could not forbear stop- 
ping, now and again, to look at the way Taggs was 
devouring her food. She ate not only as if she had 
not eaten before in a long time, but as if she were 
afraid what she had would be snatched from her if 
she did not hurry it down into a safe place. 

She was through before Tim, and had polished her 
plate till it looked as if it had never had anything on 
it. Her last mouthful of coffee she swallowed with 
a deep sigh. Then she searched for any crumbs 
that might have dropped around her plate. 

As for Tim, not only the breakfast, but the con- 
sciousness that he would be able to earn some 
money, made a new boy of him, and enabled him to 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


67 


think out a plan for the future. He broke it to Taggs 
as they left the coffee stand. 

“Why can’t I buy some papers an’ sell ’em?” 

“Yer kin, if yer kin stand it.” 

“Stand what?” 

“ Why, de racket, of course. De boys on de Row 
knows ye ain’t one o’ de gang, an’ dey’ll go fer ye 
at first.” 

“Fight, ye mean?” 

“I should smile ! Dey won’t mash yer face in, oh, 
no!” and Taggs looked as if she could see the whole 
process of mashing Tim’s face. 

“I’ll fight any feller my size,” said Tim. 

“Well, you’ll get all de chance yer want, an’ don’t 
yer fergit it.” 

Tim was not to be frightened from his purpose, 
however, for he saw no other thing for him to do, and 
so he went to Park Row, and, under Taggs’ able di- 
rection, bought some papers with the fifteen cents 
he had remaining, and set out to sell them. 

It was then that he really received his first initia- 
tion into city life. It seemed as if he had not fairly 
reached the sidewalk from the cellar of the news- 
paper office where he had bought his papers, than 
he was challenged and surrounded. 

He had received his instructions from Taggs, who, 
if she would not trust him with her basket, was bent 
on being his friend. As soon as he saw that he was 
actually in for a fight, he looked around for his little 
ally, and found her by his side. 

At the first assault he slipped his papers into her 
hands, and then turned his undivided attention to 
his assailants, with a business-like feeling that it 
was a part of his apprenticeship. 

His coolness helped him, but it did not save him a 


68 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


good drubbing then, and several times again during 
that day and subsequent days. It really seemed to 
him as if he fought, singly and in groups, all the 
-boys in Park Row. It was terribly hard for him at 
first, but after a while he rather looked forward to 
it, and, thanks to his country training, which had 
given him strength and courage, he was soon an 
object of respect among the little ruffians on the 
Row. 

It did not take him long, in that rough school, to 
become as “tough’’ as the toughest, and if he was 
ready with oaths, and slangs and blows, it surely is 
not to be wondered at. The friendship formed with 
Taggs ripened into a protectorship on his part, and 
confidence and admiration on hers. She soon ad- 
mitted that he was fully as “fiy” as herself, and, 
after that, numerous grateful acts on his part won 
her esteem and loyalty. 

Lying and stealing were a part of the life he was 
leading, but enough of the teachings of good Miss 
Abby remained with him to keep him from either, 
though how long this would continue only time 
could tell. 

Ail that fall and winter he sold papers and blacked 
boots on the Row, and in the meantime learned more 
of the ways of the great city, until at last he came 
by chance to wander in the direction of Bull’s Head, 
where the city’s trade in horses at that time was 
mainly carried on. 

After that he spent all the time he could in loung- 
ing about the neighborhood, proffering his services 
as often as the opportunity offered, and finally be- 
coming a sort of fixture about the place, where he 
was known to every horseman by his race-track 
name of Tim the Tanner, 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


69 


He saw less of Taggs after he began to frequent 
the stables, and still less after he began to be called 
into requisition to ride now and then ; but he did not 
lose sight of her altogether, for she began to follow 
him up town, and became known in her turn, her 
acuteness and sharp speeches serving to amuse the 
men who had only too much time to devote to idle- 
ness. 

When summer came and the racing season began, 
Tim contrived to find employment in a racing stable 
belonging to the Crosbys ; and then, for the whole 
season, he was lost to Taggs, who remained behind 
to fight her own way along, while he went the 
rounds of the county fairs. 

At the first he was employed only in the stables, 
but when it was discovered, as it soon was, that de- 
spite his youth, he was not only a good rider, but 
possessed of the coolness and judgment requisite in 
a good jockey, he was kept constantly on the course, 
where he acquitted himself more than creditably. 

This continued through the summer and fall, but 
winter found him back in the city forced to selling 
papers and blacking boots on the Row. After that 
second winter, however, he became too valuable to 
the stable to be lost, and he was retained from year’s 
end to year’s end. 

All of the Park Row life was left behind, with the 
exception of Taggs, who, with her increasing years, 
gained an appalling store of worldly wisdom, which 
seemed to justify her daily boast of having “no flies 
on her,” and which made her an acceptable visitor 
to the stable where Tim was employed. 

This went on for three years, Tim riding with in- 
creasing success, and gaining so much money that 
for a boy he was rich, though his employers con- 


70 


TEE COUNTY FAIR, 


trived that he should never get enough to make 
him independent of them. But, then, it was not 
likely he would, with the habits he had fallen into, 
thanks to the example of the men and boys who fre- 
quented the stables. 

Taggs always sought the stables up town as soon 
in the fall as it was likely she would find Tim at 
home ; for, besides the desire to see him, which cer- 
tainly did exist in the canny little creature’s heart, 
there was the certainty that Tim would generously 
give her no end of good things to eat, and, when 
needful, would buy her something to keep her at 
least moderately warm during the winter. 

Tim was usually too poor to do much for her, for 
he had become extravagant in his habits, but the 
little he did was a great deal to her, and she became 
accustomed to depending on her friend for the lux- 
uries of her hard life. 

One ISTovember day, when the sharp winds had 
begun to pinch the ragged little waif’s thin fiesh, 
she went up to the Crosby stables, knowing that 
the season was over and that Tim ought to be home. 
He was her one real friend, and the lonely heart 
beat with the expectation of seeing him. 

She pulled her ragged shawl around her shoul- 
ders, but after all did not feel the cold so very much, 
for the hope of seeing Tim warmed her. The stables 
- were open, and she thrust her head in and looked 
around for her friend. He was not in sight. 

‘‘Where’s Tim?” she asked. 

A glance was exchanged by the stable hands, and 
then a short laugh went around. Having no fiies on 
her, Taggs immediately knew that something was 
wrong. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


71 


‘^Tim’s doin’ his time,” laughed one of the men. 

‘‘What fer?” demanded Taggs, quickly. 

“Stole a horse.” 

“Ah, what yer givin’ me?” demanded the incredu- 
lous Taggs. 

“Ain't that so, Bill?” appealed the man. 

Bill swore with a casual but violent oath that it 
was true, wishing great heat and unhappiness for 
his future state if it were not true. And Taggs ac- 
cepted it as an unpleasant but perfectly natural end- 
ing of her old friend. 

Tim was gone, and she would have to pull through 
the winter the best she could without him. He was 
her only friend, and so he was the first friend she 
had ever had who had been sequestered for the good 
of the State ; but he was not by any means the first 
acquaintance she had had who had lived at the ex- 
pense of the government, and therefore she looked 
upon the circumstance as most unfortunate for him 
and for herself, but quite in the natural order of 
events. 

She returned to Park Bow, and to the den where, 
in common with a half-score of other children, she 
herded under the guardianship of a ruthless old 
hag, who realized for them an existence so wretched 
that it was impossible the future could have any ter- 
rors for them. 

Tim faded out of her life of misery except as a 
memory, and if she had any hope in the future it 
was bounded by the one absorbing wish that old 
Mother Morton might die, and thus give her a re- 
lease from a sort of slavery. And at last Mother 
Morton did die, and then Taggs became a free and 
independent waif. 


72 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Free to starve to death, or to steal her way into 
prison, as the case might be. 

CHAPTER VIIL 
MISS abby’s consignment. 

The Burlington express seldom stopped at Rock- 
ville — only when it was flagged for a through pas- 
senger for New York, or when it had a through pas- 
senger from New York to drop there, and either case 
was so infrequent that nobody stood around the de- 
pot at express time in such cold weather as it was 
one particular March afternoon. 

But that very cold March afternoon, just as the 
day was turning gray, the express stopped at Rock- 
ville, and a passenger was helped hurriedly off by 
the conductor, who waved one hand at the engineer 
almost as he held out the other to the passenger 
hesitating on the steps. 

The engine shrieked, the bell rang, and the train 
moved away, leaving a desolate bit of humanity 
standing shivering on the snow-covered platform. 
The shivering figure was that of a girl of perhaps 
twelve years of age. She was wretchedly clad in 
garments not even decently patched, and quite in- 
adequate to keep out the piercing cold of those keen 
Vermont winds. Her shoes were several sizes too 
large, but even so did not boast enough leather to 
keep the poor little feet under shelter. Her only 
head covering was a worn and dirty hood, and a thin 
and scanty shawl covered her shoulders. 

She watched the train rush out of sight; then 
turned slowly around and studied the inhospitably 
closed station. It offered her no encouragement, 


THE aOUHTY FAIR. 


73 


and with a resignation which seemed to be from 
habit, she huddled her head closer to her thin shoul- 
ders, and waited dully for what was to happen next. 

It does not matter how long she stood there ; it 
was long enough to set her teeth chattering, and to 
turn her hands and cheeks blue. Then some farm- 
ers from the store near by who had seen the train 
stop, and had been drawn from their warm covert 
by curiosity, came around her, and from the depths 
of their mufflers began to ask her questions. 

But she only stared dumbly out of a pair of great 
blue eyes at them, and made them no answer. It 
was as if her senses were benumbed as well as her 
shivering body. 

Presently one of the men spied a tag tied to her 
gown, and stooped down to read it, the child's eyes 
following him dully. He turned it over several times 
— it was an ordinary merchandise tag — before he 
satisfied the curiosity of his fellows by reading 
aloud : 

‘‘Miss Abigail Prue, Kock-bottom Farm, Rockville, 
Vermont.” 

He dropped the tag then, with an air of having 
done some meritorious thing, and, one after another, 
they all stooped and read it aloud, the child mean- 
while saying nothing, but following them with her 
great eyes all the while. 

Having all read the tag, the men looked at each 
other, and nodded their heads in unison, before the 
sagest of them could gather wit enough together to 
say: 

“Wa-al, Iswow!” 

Then they all nodded again, as if that remark cov- 
ered the case, and, with another look at the con- 
signment, struggled away to the store to tell what 


74 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


they had seen, leaving the little creature alone there. 

But at the store another sensation awaited them, 
for there stood Miss Abby’s sleigh — a thing almost 
as unexpected as the arrival of the stranger; for 
it was Wednesday, and, as everybody within ten 
miles, at least, of Kockville knew, that was the 
night that Otis Tucker had for the last fourteen 
years taken Miss Abby her paper from the post- 
office. 

The man whose superior astuteness had led him 
to remark, ‘T swow,’’ was the first to recover from 
the shock of astonishment at seeing the sleigh that 
night of all others, and he burst into the store, ex- 
claiming : 

“Miss Abby! If this don’t beat all ! Iswow!” 

“For the land’s sake!” cried the startled lady; 
“what’s up naow? My colt broke loose?” 

“Don’t say nothin’ ’baout colts. ’Twouldn’t be a 
patch to this ’ere.” 

“My stars! Abe Culbert, why don’t yeou say 
right aout what ’tis, ’stead o’ scarin’ a body to death? 
What’s the matter?” 

“What’s the matter?” He looked at his comrades 
with an air of asking them to note the question. 
“Air yeou expectin’ of anybody from York? That’s 
what’s the matter.” 

“Ho, I ain’t expectin’ nobody from York,” an- 
swered Miss Abby, with a slight imitation of the 
man’s manner. 

“Ho gal, nor nothin’?” 

“For the land’s sake! Ho! Ho gal nor nobody.” 

“If there was one aout thar on the platform, then, 
’twould be a surprise to yeou, like’s not.” 

“One what?” demanded the exasperated spinster, 

“Gal,” answered the man, oracularly. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


75 


‘‘Wa-al, for the land's sake! Is there a gal aout 
there for me?" 

“There be." 

“An' what's more," added another, “she'll freeze 
to death if she ain't took in some'ers party suddint." 

“Freeze to death ! Yeou don't mean to say " 

“She's aout thar on the platform, a shakin' and a 
shiverin' es ef she had the ager, an' her face es 
blue es indiger." 

“An' yeou men hadn't gumption 'nough to bring 
her in here! My stars an' garters! Sich ever- 
lastin' fools as men are, anyhow!" snapped Miss 
Abby, flouncing indignantly to the door and going 
out, leaving the men to look sheepishly at each 
other. 

Lifting her gown alarmingly high. Miss Abby 
strode through the snow to where the child stood 
shivering and looking almost as if the blood had be- 
gun to turn cold in her veins already. 

One glance at the poor child was enough for the 
soft-hearted spinster. She stopped to ask no ques- 
tions, but caught the shivering little thing by her 
hand and hurried her over to the store, where, with 
a supreme and indignant disregard of the curious 
group of men, she put her in a chair, not too near 
the stove, and having asked several questions with- 
out eliciting a response, left her and made such 
purchases as she wished, remarking now and then 
with a withering indignation that “the gal might 'a 
froze stiff before any o' them men would 'a had the 
gumption to do anything." 

Her sympathy had been so much with the child 
that it was some time before it occurred to ask 
sharply, and with a certain indiscriminate contempt 
of the whole opposite sex : 


76 THE COUNTY FAIll. 

‘‘Who said she was for me, anyhow? My stars! 
Like es not some o’ yeou dreamed it.” 

‘•No, we didn’t do nothin’ o’ the sort,” retorted 
Abe Culbert, triumphantly. “It’s writ onto a tag on 
her frock,” and he went over and lifted the tag in 
his fingers. 

“Fer the land’s sake 1” exclaimed Miss Abby, read- 
ing the tag. “Where d’ye come from, sis?” 

The child looked silently, but with a sort of pite- 
ous eloquence, at the spinster, which moved the lat- 
ter to exclaim quickly, and in time to prevent the 
oracular Abe Culbert from delivering himself of one 
of his hits of wisdom : 

“But, my stars! it don’t matter who yeou be, 
you’ve got to be took care on fer to-night, an’ ef I 
be a woman I wouldn’t let you freeze to death. Come 
along with me. Got them things in the sleigh, Sam ? 
Come on, sis,” and she led the child out to the 
sleigh, where she wrapped her to her ears in a 
warm robe, tucked another around her, wrapped 
another around herself, and drove off. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FOR LITTLE ABBY’S SAKE. 

At about the time that Miss Abby and the little 
stranger were setting out for Rock-bottom Farm, 
another couple had already arrived there in a trim 
cutter drawn by a big-boned bay, who shook his 
bells as merrily as if he rather liked the music of 
them himself. 

The driver, a ruddy young man, who seemed very 
full of happiness, pulled up at the kitchen door, but 
his companion looked up and said, shyly : 



“QH, COME OFF THE ROOF!” EXCLAIMED CONKEY. “WHAT IS YER 
NAME, THEN ?”-(F. 36.) 


78 


THE COUNTY FATE. 


‘'Go right on to the barn^ Joel; I’ll help yeou on- 
hitch.” 

“No, will yeou, Sally? That’s kind of yeou. If 
yeou’re sure yeou don’t mind?” 

‘Td like to, Joel.” 

It was little Sally Greenaway, grown up into as 
rosy, and buxom, and shy, and bewitching a coun- 
try lass as one would find in a week’s journey. And 
Joel was a young farmer who had jumped at the 
chance of making one of Miss Abby’s household 
when she was looking around for some man to work 
the farm on shares with her. 

It took the two rather longer to put the horse away 
than it would have taken Joel alone, particularly if 
Sally had been waiting in the house for him ; but they 
did succeed after a time in doing it, and then they 
went together to the house, he helping her a great 
deal more than was absolutely necessary, but not 
any more than she was quite willing he should. 

Then, when they reached the house, and Sally 
saw by the clock what the time was, she declared 
she must hurry and get the table set so that Miss 
Abby would not scold. And there was that sitting- 
room fire to see to, too. 

“I’ll tell yeou what I’ll do, Sally,” said Joel, with 
a violent attempt to have the air of making a fair 
and perfectly natural bargain. 

“What, Joel?” 

She said Joel as if she enjoyed hearing herself 
say it. 

“If yeou’ll help me fix the fire. I’ll help yeou set 
the table.” 

“Why, of course I will, Joel.” 

So she got down on her knees, and poked the 
fire and arranged the logs that were nearly burned 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


79 


out, while he ran out for fresh wood, which, when 
it was brought, he threw on the fire, making it sput- 
ter and crack for a few moments and then break 
into a fierce blaze, which warmed one only to look 
at. 

“Naow get yeour cloth,’’ said he. 

“But yeou want more wood,” said she. 

“Not yet,” said he, and if anybody had seen the 
way they looked at each other, and then quickly 
away again, he would have supposed they were say- 
ing something very different from such common- 
places. 

Then Sally got the cloth, and Joel helped her lay 
it, getting his fingers sadly mixed with hers in the 
doing of it, till she blushed furiously and declared 
with a very good assumption of earnestness, that she 
could do better without him. 

“Yeou don’t mean that, Sally,” he said, tragically. 

“I didn’t go to hurt yeour feelings, Joel. I only 
meant ” 

“What did you mean, Sally?” cried Joel, striding 
around the table in a way that made Sally catch her 
breath and cry out : 

“Oh, I came near forgetting the plates. Will yeou 
get the knives, Joel?” 

Then Joel looked as if he had almost done some- 
thing desperate, and was of a mind to do it any- 
how; but he checked himself, and went for the 
knives, which he rather thumped on the table as he 
put them down. Then he sat in a chair near the 
table, quite forgetting his bargain, and doing noth- 
ing but watch Sally until she felt she should cry 
right out if something was not said. So she said it 
herself ; 


80 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘We had a good time at the sugar-making, didn’t 
we, Joel?” 

“So we did, Sally. We always do have a good 
time together, don’t we, Sally?” 

“Yes, Joel,” answered Sally, faintly, piling the 
plates up as if to clear the table. “And sugarin’ 
specially is always fun. ” 

“Sally,” cried Joel, springing from his chair to 
her side and putting his arm around her, “what’s to 
hinder yeou and me sugarin’ all our lives? Yeou 
know I love yeou, Sally! Say, Sally, will yeou be 
my wife? Naow, don’t say it’s all a mistake, Sally. 
I know I ain’t half good enough for yeou, Sally; 
but yeou won’t never find nobody to love yeou any 
better. Did yeou say yes, Sally? Oh, Sally!” 

No one could blame him for lingering over such 
cherry lips as those, and he might have gone on in- 
definitely with his exercises had not the sitting-room 
door been fiung open with a bang which sent him 
fully ten feet from Sally. 

“For the land’s sake, Joel Bartlett! do yeou want 
me to yell my lungs out to make you hear? Here I 
have been calling at the top of ” 

Joel darted out of the house to look after the horse. 

“Wa-al, I should think so! Come in, sis, an’ shut 
the door. There! stand by the fire. Naow, Sally, 
don’t stand lookin’ at her, but help me off with 
my things. Never see such cold weather in March. 
Leave them matches alone, little gal. Don’t never 
play with matches. I don’t know .who she is, Sally, 
so it’s no use to ask me. Found her down to the 
depot with a ticket on her sayin’ she was fer me. 
That’s all I know. Got to keep her for to-night, I 
s’pose. Easy enough to send her where she came 
from, if she knows where that is, If she knows any- 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


81 


thing ! My stars ! she ain’t opened her mouth to say 
a word sence I laid eyes on her. May be dumb, fer 
all I know. We’ll keep her all night anyhow. She 
might a froze to death-such everlastin’ fools as 
men are ! I’d like to know where she came from, 
fer ” 

“Got a letter fer you, missis.” 

“Fer the land’s sake! Thawed eout, have yeou? 
Give me the letter. Where is it?” 

The child opened a hand-satchel which she car- 
ried in her hand, and took from it a letter which she 
gave^to Miss Abby. In doing so the good spinster 
touched the grimy little hand of the stranger. 

“Good land I yeou ain’t warm yet. Set daown by 
the fire.” 

Joel, who had come in with an armful of wood, 
which he had tossed into the box, thought to help 
the child by taking her satchel from her, but the 
moment he put his hand near it, she uttered a cry 
like a little wild beast, and snatched it from him. 

“Fer the land’s sake! what’s the matter?” ex- 
claimed Miss Abby, looking over her glasses at the 
child. 

“He wanted to take me bag,” said the little thing. 

“Take yeour hag! Nobody won’t hurt yeour 
bag, child. Put it down on the table, and go set 
daown, while I read the letter.” 

As she settled herself comfortably in her rocking- 
chair, and began to turn the envelope over, the 
child put her satchel on the table, and then, with a 
furtive glance around, snatched a cookie from a 
plate, and thrust it into her pocket. 

“Oh, Miss Abby,” exclaimed, Sally, involuntarily, 
“she put a cookie in her pocket.” 

Miss Abby looked at the little thing, who had al- 


82 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


ready begun to assume a look of sullen defiance, 
and said : 

‘‘My stars! don’t put the vittles in yeour pocket; 
put them in yeou stomach where they belong. 
Poor thing I Looks es if she hadn’t a decent meal 
o’ vittles fer a week. Sally, take her into the kit- 
chen, an’ give her all she wants to eat.” 

“All I wants, mum?” cried the child, with the air 
of a famished wolf. 

“All yeou want, an’ more, too, if that’ll do yeou 
any good. Bring me the other lamp, Sally; I can’t 
see by this.” 

Sally was altogether too anxious to know what 
the letter contained to waste any time in getting 
some food for the little girl, and she was not too in- 
nocent in keeping Miss Abby waiting for the lamp. 
When that was brought Miss Abby opened the en- 
velope, and, in the midst of the curious silence of 
the others, read slowly aloud : 

“Miss Abigail Prue: 

“Dear Madam: — It is more than two years since I 
wrote you concerning your dead sister’s child, and I 
had hoped to be able to tell you something more 
about her ;* but after tracing her to the place where 
she was best known, I have been unable to discover 
more. As it seems quite likely that the poor little 
thing has been irrevocably lost, and, knowing how 
your kind heart must yearn for the child, I have 
taken the liberty to send you a poor little waif who 
has never known the blessing of a good home or a 
loving heart. She is a good child, and has but one 
fault— she will take things that do not belong to 
her ” 

Miss Abby opened her eyes, already half dimmed 
with sympathetic tears, and exclaimed : 

“Take things that don’t belong to her. Good 


TEE COUNTY FAIB. 


83 


land! ain’t that enough. Wa-al, it won’t take long 
to send her back where she came from. Take things 

that don’t My stars! does she think I’m a 

house of mercy, or what yeou call it? Fer the land’s 
sake ! Let’s see what’s the rest on it.” 

“But she has promised to do so no more, and as 
she is a good child I think she will be as good as her 
promise. Eemember that ‘as ye do this unto the 
least of my children ye do it unto me. ’ 

“Sarah Wilson.” 

“Wa-al,” said Miss Abby, looking at Sally, “that 
sounds better. If she’s promised, maybe she won’t 
do it no more. Where is she? Oh, there you are! 
You look better already. Land sakes! when was 
yeou washed last? Yeou do look es if yeou an’ 
water wa’n’t on speakin’ acquaintance, an’ hadn’t 
been. What’s your name?” 

“Taggs,” answered the little waif, with a nearer 
approach to the familiar manner of old than she had 
yet come. 

“Taggs? Taggs what?” 

“Taggs nothin’, jest Taggs.” 

“Why, that ain’t no name ’tall. Who gave it to 
yeou?” 

“The fellers on the Row.” 

“The-fellers-on-the-row ! What fer?” 

“Oh, Idunno; guess it was cause I used to sell 
shoe-laces there.” 

“Oh ! Wa-al, I knowed it wa’n’t no Bible name — 
oh, why, it must be short for Tabs— Tabitha— that’s 
it. For the land’s sake ! couldn’t yeou fill up in the 
kitchen?” for Taggs had been nibbling first an 
apple and then a cookie all through the questioning. 

“Yer bet yer life they was good vittles!” said 


84 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Taggs, with a gloating remembrance of what she 
had eaten. 

‘‘Bet my life!” repeated the horrified spinster. 
“Why, Taggs, don't yeou know^ ” 

“Say,” interrupted Taggs, with a puzzled expres- 
sion on her face, “I think I must ’a struck you some- 
wheres before.” 

“Wa-al, I think not, Taggs; if ever yeou’d slapped 
me, yeou’d ’a knowed it not to fergit it. No, I don’t 
think yeou ever slapped me, Taggs.” 

“Aw, come off!” said Taggs. 

“There! that will do, Taggs,” said Miss Abby, 
with dignity. “Sally, take Taggs into the kitchen 
and wash her face and hands.” 

“Am I to stay, missis?” 

“If yeou’re a good girl, Taggs. Taggs, call me 
Miss Abby. Did yeou bring any clothes, Taggs?” 

“In the bag, mum,” indicating the diminutive 
satchel. 

Miss Abby opened her eyes and glanced at Sally. 
Then she took up the bag and opened it, and took 
out a small and somewhat soiled garment of a non- 
descript shape. 

“What’s this, Taggs?” 

“Me ni’ gownd.” 

“Mght-gown ! Wa-al, before yeou wear it fer that, 
up here. Sally’ll put a flounce onto it. Sally, don’t 
yeou let her sleep in that to-night. Why, it wouldn’t 
keep her chest warm. What’s this?” holding up a 
tin box. 

“Me work-box.” 

“The dear child ! I’m glad yeou’ve been taught 
to sew. Sally, put it on the sideboard, so it’ll be 
handy. What’s this? Oh, I see, yeour Sunday- 
school book, and a mark in it, too. Sally, she can't 


TBE COUNTY FAIR. 


85 


be a very bad girl if she knows her Sunday-school 
lessons. Taggs, I’ll hear your last lesson, bimeby. 
Now, go get her washed up, Sally. Joel Bartlett, 
what are yeou doin’ here, as if there was no chores 
to be done nor nothin’.” 

So it was that little Taggs, the poor city waif, was 
installed into the household of Rock-bottom Farm. 


CHAPTER X. 

MORTGAGE AND MARRIAGE. 

It took Miss Abby a few minutes to realize that 
she had committed herself to the care of another 
child, and she allowed herself to sit idly in the rock- 
ing-chair for a very short time as she thought it over ; 
but it was not her custom to permit her hands to be 
idle for long ; and so, with a sigh at the prospect 
before her, she arose briskly, and put on her kitchen 
apron preparatory to paring a dish of apples that 
stood on the table. 

She glanced up at the big clock as she sat down, 
and, with a sigh and a self-conscious simper that 
played havoc with the rather harsh features of the 
good lady, murmured : 

“IV^ost time fer Otis.” 

She had hardly given an apple that little dab with 
the knife which is intended to break the skin, when 
there came a knock at the door, which made her 
start up with a dismayed look at her gown. 

“Good land!” she muttered, “that can’t be Otis. 
’Tain’t his knock. Come in !” 

The door opened to admit the stooping, shambling 
figure of a man, whose sharp nose was reddened by 
the cold, and whose hatchet face was blue from the 


86 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


same cause. He was not over well protected from 
the cold, and he rubbed his hands with comfort as 
he closed the door behind him. 

‘‘Oh, Solon Hammerhead! It’s yeou, is it?” said 
Miss Abby, without any exaggeration of welcome. 

“Yes, it’s me. Miss Abby,” said Solon, in a dis- 
agreeable nasal tone. “Thought I’d stop in es I was 
passin’.” 

Miss Abby glanced at the clock, resumed her seat 
and her work, and exclaimed, with a sort of irrita- 
tion at the manner in which her visitor was shamb- 
ling around the room, looking curiously at one 
thing and another : 

“Set daown — take yeour coat off— go home, or do 
something.” 

“Don’t care if I do,” said Solon, taking off a 
shabby coat and hat, and depositing them on the 
settee. “Alius very snug and comfortable here, 
ain’t ye. Miss Abby?” 

“Manage to get along,” answered Miss Abby, 
shortly. 

“Ya-as, ya-as. Kem over to talk a leetle with 
yeou ” 

“Abaout the mortgage?” interrupted Miss Abby, 
giving an apple a particularly vigorous dab with 
her knife. 

“Wa-al, mebbe we don’t need to say so much 
abaout that, Miss Abby.” 

Miss Abby looked at him over her glasses with a 
stare of surprise, which was in no way concealed. 
She did not speak, but waited for him to continue: 

“I was thinkin’ abaout yeour farm, Miss Abby. 
What yeou want is a man abaout the place ” 

Miss Abby’s thoughts flew for a second to Otis, 
and she simpered like a girl; then she recovered 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


87 


herself, and said, rather more graciously than be- 
fore: 

' “I thought, some time ago, ’baout that, Solon. I 
spoke to ’Riah Bartlett ’baout it, and his boy Joel 
hes been livin’ here workin’ the farm on shares.” 

‘‘Bah!” exclaimed Solon, contemptuously. “I 
mean a man. He’s a boy.” 

“He ain’t es old es he will be,” admitted Miss 
Abby. 

“I should think not,” said Solon. “Naow look 
here. Miss Abby, what’s to hinder yeou an’ me 
workin’ this farm on shares?” 

“My stars, Solon! I never thought anybody could 
work yeou on shares.” 

“H’m!” grunted Solon. “An’ there’s that mort- 
gage that’s troublin’ yeou. Yeou don’t need to worry 
’baout that. Miss Abby. I’m willing to give that to 
yeou, an’ ” 

“Give it to me! Why, Solon! How I have 
wronged that man in my heart!” murmured Miss 
Abby, quite overcome. 

“ — An’ myself with it,” went on Solon, with what 
he intended for an engaging leer. 

“Yeourself with it!” repeated Miss Abby, for a 
moment not comprehending the subtlety of his pro- 
posal ; then, as it became clear to her, saying with 
a sort of snort, “Oh! I thought there was a nigger 
in the wood-pile somewhere.’^ 

“Wa-al, why not. Miss Abby? Me an^ yeou’d 
make a good team ” 

“Huh!” 

“There ain’t nobody I know is a better house- 
keeper than yeou ” 

Miss Abby bridled with gratification, murmuring: 


88 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘It ain’t fer me to say ; but I think I know how 
to cook an sew equal to any one in these parts.” 

“That’s what I say,” went on Solon; “an’ es fer 
me, if I do say it myself, I ^uess there ain’t many 
’raound here kin put their hands on more ready cash. 
Then there’s the farms ! There wouldn’t be a better 
farm in the hull county than yeourn an’ mine when 
they was jined. What yeou need’s a man, an’ what 
I need’s a woman, an’ I don’t think we could do 
better ’n hitch horses. Jest look at it. I’d git ” 

“Yes,” cried Miss Abby, indignantly, “yeou’d 
git! That’s jest it. Yeou’d git one o’ the best house- 
keepers there is in the hull county, if I do say it. 
One who kin bake, an’ cook, an’ mend — my stars! 
Yeou’d git! An’ what would I git? The land 
knows ! Clothes enough to cover my back, mebbe, 
an’ half enough to eat. Great suds and seeds ! There 
ain’t a critter on yeour farm that ain’t half-starved 
to death ! My land ! What yeou want is a house- 
keeper — a sort of servant without wages. Thank 
yeou, I ain’t lookin’ fer a situation of that kind. 
When I am, I’ll let yeou know. Marry yeou! My 
stars!” ' 

“Yeou might do worse.” 

“I don’t think I could.” 

“If yeou’re ’gaged to Otis Tucker, why didn’t 
yeou say so before.” 

“ ’Gaged to Otis Tucker! Who said anything 
’baout Otis Tucker— my stars, Solon Hammerhead ! 
Who said anything ” 

“He’s been cornin’ here every Wednesday night 
nigh onto fourteen year naow, an’ if he ain’t ’gaged, 

he ought to be. All the neighbors ” 

'“The neighbors? If the neighbors ain’t nothin’ 
better to do— fer the land’s sake ! Can’t a man come 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


89 


to my house to bring me the paper without the 
neighbors — wa-al, ef I’d knowed the neighbors was 
so much exercised ’baout my affairs I’d ’a asked 
’em to step in an’ hear what w’e talked abaout. My 
stars an’ garters! Wa-al! an’ don’t they want to 
know what I have fer supper?” 

‘‘Don’t know nothin’ ’baout it,” said Solon, sul- 
lenly. “Don’t keer. All I’ve got to say is, yeou 
can’t do no better’n marry me.” 

“Can’t do no better!” snorted Miss Abby. “My 
stars, Solon Hammerhead ! ef yeou was the last man 
on earth I wouldn’t have yeou.” 

“Yeou wouldn’t, eh? Wa-al, all I’ve got to say is, 
that if I can’t get the farm with yeou. I’ll take it 
without, d’ye hear that?” 

“Yeou won’t get this farm, with or without me.” 

“Then yeou’ll pay off that mortgage on fair day 
— three days’ grace. Yeou pay it off, or I take the 
farm.” 

“Don’t yeou fret yeourself ’baout that mortgage. 
I’ll pay it off.” 

“Yeou’ll have ter, or lose the farm. Principal an’ 
interest, every cent.” 

“Fer the land’s sake! Solon Hammerhead,” said 
Miss Abby, thumping down her bowl of apples, 
“yeou don’t mean to say yeou’d charge a neighbor 
interest on borrowed money?” 

“Only what the law allows— no more, no less. 
Eight per cent.” 

A look of deep disgust settled on Miss Abby’s face 
as she turned and faced Solon. 

“Eight cents!” she cried. “Wa-al, don’t yeou be 
troubled, yeou’ll have yeour eight cents. All this 
fuss over eight cents. Thank goodness, there ain’t 


90 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


nothin’ mean about me. Yeou have yeour 

eight cents.” 

‘‘Eight cents!” shrieked Solon, stepping up under 
Miss Abby’s nose, and slapping one hand in the 
other. “Eight cents! Eight cents fer each an’ 
every dollar fer every year yeou’ve had that 
money.” 

“Yeou shall have it,” said Miss Abby, scornfully, 
“shall have every cent. Can’t be very much, any- 
how, fer it ain’t two year ago I paid yeou a hundred 
dollars, an’ fifty a year later.” 

“A hundred an’ fifty dollars! Went into the in- 
terest, an’ didn’t half pay it!” 

“Interest!” repeated Miss Abby, aghast. 

“Ya-as, interest. Hello! Who’s that?” for Taggs 
had just entered the room and gone over to the 
dresser for something. 

“A little gal sent up here from the Mission in 
York,” answered Miss Abby, curtly. 

“Sent up here to steal evervthing in yeour house, 
an’ then burn it over yeour head. I’ll bet she’s a 
thief!” snarled Solon, eying Taggs with both dis- 
like and distrust. 

But Taggs was equal to the occasion. It was noth- 
ing new to her to be accused of being a thief, and it 
did not strike her to resent it as an insult. She 
merely looked upon Solon as an enemv in trying to 
prejudice her new friends against her, and she set 
her arms akimbo, and stared into his face with the 
saucy defiance of a Hew York gamin. 

Exasperated by the child’s impudence, but not 
knowing how to resent it, Solon turned to Miss Abby 
and exclaimed : 

“An’ yeou’re as bad as a thief to keep her.” 

“What’s that? you old chump, you!” cried Taggs, 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


91 


snatching up a broom and swinging it around until 
it caught the unprepared Solon on the back of the 
head. ^‘Call Miss Abby a thief, will yer?’’ and in 
another moment she would have repeated the blow 
had not Miss Abby in dismay caught the broom as it 
flew around. 



“CALL MISS ABBY A THIEF, WILL YER!” CRIED TAGGS, AS THE 
BROOM CAUGHT SOLON ON THE BACK OP THE HEAD. 


‘^Oh, oh ! what are yeou doing, Taggs? Oh, mercy ! 
Lord save us! Oh, Taggs!” 

‘‘Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to let a slob like him call 
you no thief. Ah! v/hat’s de matter wid yer?” this 
last to Solon. 

“There, there, Taggs,” said Miss Abby, “put the 


92 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


broom back — other end up, or yeou will spile the 
broom — an’ go inter the kitchen.” 

Taggs left with a last sly demonstration of war at 
Solon, who kept a wary eye on her. Then Solon 
took up his hat and coat in high dudgeon. 

“Keep her an’ see what comes on it,” he said, 
with angry warning. “Es fer that mortgage, don’t 
fergit I’m goin’ to have the money — sixteen hun- 
dred dollars and some odd — or the farm.” 

“Sixteen hundred dollars!” exclaimed Miss Abby. 
“Why, I didn’t borrer more’n nine hundred all 
told.” 

“Don’t keer. I got it down in black an’ white. 
Sixteen hundred dollars an’ some odd. Compound 
interest at eight per cent., deduct hundred an’ fifty. 
Reckon it out yeourself. An’ I’ll have every penny 
on it, sure es my name’s Solon Hammerhead. Good- 
night!” and he slammed the door after him, and 
went out into the cold, leaving Miss Abby to drop 
into a chair ready to cry. 


CHAPTER XI. 

MISS abby’s opinion of men. 

Miss Abby had not yet recovered her equanimity 
when Sally and Joel came joyously into the room, 
but checked themselves a little at the sight of Miss 
Abby’s sober face. 

“That Hammerhead’s been here again,” said 
Sally, quickly. 

“Yes,” answered Miss Abby, with a sigh. 

“What did he want this time?” 

“Nothin’ much.” Then, as it struck her what he 


THE COUNTY FAITt, 


93 


did want, she added, hastily, “I— that is, he wanted 
a great deal. What d’yeou think he wanted, Sally?” 

“I couldn’t guess. Miss Abby. Somethin’ ’baout 
the mortgage?” 

“He wanted me to marry him!” 

“What!” cried Sally. 

“Ye ain’t a-goin’ to do it, are yeou. Miss Abby?” 
exclaimed Joel. 

“My stars, Joel Bartlett! Yeou needn’t make 
such a fuss abaout it, es if there was anything 
strange in my marryin’. Do it? No. Marry him! 
Marry no man.” 

The two young people looked at each other in 
such a singular fashion that Miss Abby exclaimed, 
angrily : 

“Wa-al, what’s the matter with yeou two?” 

“Nothin’,” said Joel. “That is. Miss Abby — eh^ 
Sally?” 

“Fer the land’s sake! What’s the matter with 
yeou, Joel Bartlett?” 

“Why, Miss Abby Yeou tell her, Sally.” 

“Why, Miss Abby,” said Sally, blushing furiously, 
“yeou see — oh, I can’t, Joel; yeou do it.” 

“My stars an’ garters!” exclaimed Miss Abby, 
angrily, “will one on yeou tell me what’s the mat- 
ter? Is the haouse a-burnin’ daown, or what?” 

“No, Miss Abby; it ain’t that,” said Joel, trying 
to laugh, and looking foolish. “The fact is. Miss 
Abby ” 

“Yeou see. Miss Abby,” interrupted Sally, “Joel, 
he ” 

“Yes, ma’am, that’s it,” interrupted Joel, with a 
renewal of courage. “Sally an’ me, we ” 

“We,” took up Sally, looking sidewise at Joel, 
“we want ’’ 


94 


TEE COUNTY FAIB. 


“We — we — why, we want to be married — eh, 
Sally?’’ and he put his arm around her, and gave 
her a convulsive hug. 

“Married!” screamed Miss Abby. “Yeou two chil- 
dren!” 

But the ice was broken now, and the two lovers 
recovered all their volubility, and poured their ex- 
planations, and reasons, and plans into her ears, in 
a sort of chorus, both speaking, in their eagerness, 
as fast and loud as they could, and without any 
regard to what the other was saying, except to try 
to clinch each argument by a better. 

“Will veou shet up?” cried Miss Abby, at last. 
“My conscience! Well, yeou have it all cut an’ 
dried, haven’t yeou? Joel is to stay here and take 
charge o’ the farm — turn me aout o’ my room, like’s 
not — — ” 

“Oh, no!” protested Sally. “We will take the 

garret Oh, my!” and she suddenly stopped, and 

blushed furiously, leaving it to Joel to finish for her. 

“I’m willing to begin modest at first,” he said. 

“Wa-al, it strikes me yeou ain’t so awful modest 
but yeou’ll git along,” said Miss Abby, sarcastic- 
ally. Then, as another mood overtook her, she put 
her handkerchief to her eyes and sobbed, “Oh, 
Sally! fer yeou to think o’ leavin’ me!” 

“But I won’t leave yeou, Miss Abby. I told Joel 
I wouldn’t — didn’t I, Joel?” 

“Yes, she did. Miss Abby.” 

“Oh, yes, ma’am; I told him that we’d just stay 
right here with yeou, an’ ” 

“An’ let me take keer o’ both on ye ’stead o’ only 
one. Wa-al, I s’pose I’ve got to stand it; but— my 
stars, Joel Bartlett! ain’t there nothin’ to do on this 
farm but to stand araound talkin’ an’ talkin’? If 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


95 


talkin’ would do any good, this farm ’ud be the best 
in the county. Don’t stand there lookin’ at me, 
but go get them chores done. They won’t do them- 
selves.” 

Joel jumped and flew out of the door, but he did 
not go so quickly that he had not time for a last 
glance at Sally. 

“Oh, Sally, Sally!” moaned Miss Abby, sitting 
down and putting her handkerchief to her eyes. 

“Please don’t. Miss Abby. I won’t marry him if 
yeou say not to,” said Sally. 

“Won’t yeou? Yeou dear child! We’ll be so 
happy together, Sally ” 

“But we’ll be happier if yeou don’t mind abaout 
me marryin’ Joel. He’d feel so bad if I didn’t.” 

“Then yeou won’t give him up?” 

“I will if you say so. Miss Abby; but you won’t 
say so, will you. Miss Abby? — dear Miss Abby!” 

“Wa-al, I s’pose I might es well give in.” 

“Thank yeou. Miss Abby.” 

“Sally,” said Miss Abby, solemnly, “mebbe I ain’t 
done my duty by yeou. I ought ’a warned yeou 
against the men. They ain’t to be trusted, Sally. 
Just a passel o’ lyin’, deceivin’ critters — ready to 
promise anything to get yeou, and then ready to 
swear to anything else to get rid on yeou afterward. 
I know ’em, Sally.” 

“Oh, Miss Abby, yeou don’t believe that!” 

“Yes, I do. There’s only one thing in Joel’s fa- 
vor. He ain’t got no talents.” 

“Ho talents, Miss Abby!” 

“No talents! Them’s the kind that’s worst. Sis- 
ter Mandy married a man with talents, an’ see what 
became o’ her! Look at history! There’s the first 
Mrs. Bonaparte; she married a man with talents, 


96 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


an’ what did he do? Deserted her, an’ got another 
wife. An’ Mandy’s husband, Philip Denton, what 
did he do? He had talents. He was an artist, al- 
ways goin’ ’raound takin’ those everlastin’ tin- 
types; what did he do? Waited till Mandy died, 
an’ then went to the city and died himself, leavin’ 
that blessed baby to die of starvation on the cold 
streets. He was buried in Mr. Potter’s field because 
he was too poor to own any land of his own!” and 
the good lady broke down and sobbed. 

‘‘Don’t cry, Miss Abby,” said Sally, soothingly, 
“yeou may find the baby yet. And, anyhow, here 
is Taggs come to yeou to care for. She is a dear lit- 
tle thing. Miss Abby, if she is kind o’ strange. She 
wants to do right, and she’s awful grateful.” 

“Is she, Sally? We must do what we can fer her, 
Sally. The dear child ! She hit Hammerhead over 
the head with a broom.” 

Sally could not quite make out from Miss Abby’s 
tone whether this was intended as commendation or 
not, but anyhow she was glad herself, and deter- 
mined to give Taggs an extra piece of cake for it. 

“Oh, Sally,” said Miss Abby,^ with a conscious 
air, “put on some of them cold beans fer Otis; he’s 
so fond o’ them. Seems to me he’s late to-night. 
Don’t yeou think so, Sally?” 

“A little bit; yes, ma’am. Maybe the cold 
weather has kept him.” 

“Oh,” simpered Miss Abby, “the cold wouldn’t 
stop him. It is cold to-night, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Miss Abby, yeou said I wasn’t to 
ask no questions abaout Tom; but. Miss Abby, I 
can’t help thinkin’ abaout him. Do yeou think, 
Miss Abby, I will ever see him again?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


97 


'^ISTo, Sally. Sally, he was a very bad boy, and 
you mustn’t think of him.” 

“I can’t help it. I think of him so often, an’ won- 
der where he is. Sometimes I think he must be dead, 
or I’d hear from him.” 

“Wa-al, yeou ain’t likely to. Naow go get them 
beans fer Otis, like a good girl, an’ don’t cry,” for 
Sally had a big tear standing in each eye. 

“My stars!” muttered Miss Abby, “that child 
would cry her eyes aout if she knew Tom had been 
put in jail fer horse-stealin’. Most did it myself 
when I heard on it. Couldn’t hardly believe it. 
Wish I could ’a found aout where he was. I’d ’a 
gone to see him, or tried to do somethin’ fer him.” 

It was true. Miss Abby had tried to obtain some 
trace of Tom, and though she could not do that, she 
came upon the story of his disgrace, told in such a 
circumstantial way that she could not doubt it; and 
as she said, she had cried heartily over it, even 
blaming herself lest she had not trained him right 
when he was with her. 

She was brought by the thought of Tom to the 
thought of Taggs, and she went into the kitchen 
full of the determination to do her best by her any- 
how. 

Sally found the beans, and was putting them on 
the table, when the door opened and Joel had 
snatched a furtive kiss. 

“Ain’t yeou ashamed?” said Sally. 

“ISTot a bit. I’ll do it again,” and he did. 

“Yeou’ll make me break a plate,” said Sally. 

“I don’t care if I do,” said Joel, recklessly. 
“Sally, I’ve got something for yeou.” 

“What is it?” 

“Guess.” 


98 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


“Oh, I can’t. My knitting that I left to Miss 
Blood’s. She said she’d send it to me.” 

“No. Guess again.” 

“A dress pattern from Miss Blood.” 

“No. Better’ll that. Guess once more.” 

“Oh, I know. How foolish of me not to think of 
it! Yeou’ve got a ring for me.” 

“No, it ain’t. I wish it was. It’s only this old 
letter. I forgot to give it to yeou,” and he handed 
her a letter. 

“A letter for me? Why, who can be writing to me? 
I never had a letter in my life before. Get a chair, 
an’ let’s read it.” 

“All right, Sally,” said Joel, nothing loth, particu- 
larly as he had noticed that the writing was not a 
woman’s. 

He got the chairs and put them conveniently to- 
gether, and waited for her; but Sally had, in her 
impatience already opened her letter, and was read- 
ing it. It was evidently interesting, for she did not 
hear his repeated invitation to sit down, but went 
on reading to the end, when she put one hand to her 
heart, and crumpled the letter in the other. 

“Come on, Sally,” said Joel again. 

“I— I guess I won’t read this with yeou, naow, 
Joel,” said Sally, faintly. 

“All right, Sally,” said Joel. “Who’s it from?” 

“N-nobody yeou know,” answered Sally. 

“It’s from a man,” said Joel, with a jealous pang. 

“It is not,” answered Sally, hastily, and then 
with a sudden recollection, “that is— well, it doesn't 
m.atter who it’s from, naow. Don’t ask me naow 
Joel.” 

“All right, Sally,” said he, loftily, “if yeou don’t 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


99 


want me to see yeour letter, I guess I can get 
along.’’ 

‘‘Why, Joel!” said Sally, reproachfully. 

“Well, I’d let yeou see any o’ my letters. Any- 
how I didn’t ask to see yeour old letter. Yeou was 
the first to speak of it. ” 

Joel was making a great effort to appear indiffer- 
ent and careless, but suddenly his feelings gained 
the mastery, and he burst out, with a quaver in his 
voice that made Sally completely break down : 

“1 didn’t suppose, Sally Greenaway, that yeou’d 
ever let a man come ’tween yeou an’ me, I didn’t.” 

“No man could co — come between yeou an’ me, 
Joel,” sobbed Sally. “The letter was from — from — 
oh, Joel, yeou’ll iest break my heart, yeou will.” 

“Don’t say that, Sally. I’m sorry I said it. I 
don’t care who the letter’s from, if I only know yeou 
love me — an’ yeou do, don’t yeou, Sally?” 

“Better than everything, Joel.” 

“But the letter was from a man, naow, wasn’t 
it, Sally?” demanded Joel, persuasively. 

“No— o, not exactly,” said Sally, kissing Joel for 
the first time, so what could he do but give it up 
and wonder how the letter could be from not exactly 
a man. 

But Sally was quite right ; the letter was signed : 
“Your loving brother, Tom,” and even when a 
brother is a big one instead of a little one like Tom, 
he is hardly a man for a lover to be troubled about. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A VISIT FROM OTIS TUCKER. 

Miss Abby and Sally were alone together in the 
cozy sitting-room. Taggs was in the kitchen, eating 


100 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


of every imaginable thing, with a joy that every 
moment was tempered by a growing sense of full- 
ness. Joel was doing his chores at the barn. 

Sally moved softly about the room, thinking of 
the letter which had brought the tears to her eyes, 
thinking of how noble and good her Joel was, and 
looking wistfully at Miss Abby, wishing she might 
talk with her about what troubled her. 

Miss Abby was silent, too. She had taken up the 
bowl of apples which she had abandoned during the 
heat of her conversation with Solon Hammerhead, 
and was paring the fruit with an air at once pen- 
sive and alert. And underneath the air of pensive- 
ness, or rather running through it, was noticeable 
an expression of self-conscious expectancy. In a 
person of less dignity than Miss Abby it would have 
been called a smirk. 

Presently there came the jingle of sleigh-bells 
through the frosty air, and Miss Abby checked a 
smile on her lips, and pared apples with extraor- 
dinary assiduity. 

“That must be Otis Tucker,’’ said Sally, listening 
to catch the tone peculiar to his bells. 

“Otis Tucker! My land 1 ” exclaimed Miss Abby, 
as if he was the person last in her thoughts, and 
not at all as if she had been expecting him on that 
night, as she had expected him and seen him 
every Wednesday night for fourteen years. “What 
can he want? Sally! Tell Joel to help Otis onhar- 
ness. He’s so mortal tedious he’d be all night doin’ 
it alone. Naow go right along, an’ don’t be so fool- 
ish. I won’t be fussed up. It’s all nonsense. For 
the land’s sake!” 

For as soon as the conviction that it was really 
Otis had settled in Sally’s mind, she had run to a 


THE COUNTY FAIE. 


101 


drawer, from which she had taken a lace collar and 
a coral necklace, and which she had at once pro- 
ceeded to put around Miss Abby’s neck. 

Miss Abby protested that she would not be fussed 
over, but all the while bent her head to the adorning 
hands of Sally, who, having decked the good lady 
with the collar and necklace, hastily brought a, 
black silk apron from the same drawer, and tied it 
about the spinster’s waist. 

‘‘Naow, do go, Sally,” said Miss Abby, fluttering 
about the room, to use an expression of her own, 
like a hen on a hot shovel. 

So Sally ran out of the house by the kitchen door, 
to And Joel; and Miss Abby, with many expressions 
of dismay at the condition of her hair, and of won- 
der at what should bring Otis there, prinked and 
fussed at the little mirror like a young thing of six- 
teen, until a heavy knock sounded on the door. 

Then she pattered across the room to open the 
door, but seeing a pillow awry, stopped to adjust it ; 
and that called her attention to the fact that her 
apron was on wrong side before, so that the gaudy 
flowers she had embroidered with so much care did 
not show. That she adjusted. Then the discarded 
work apron was spied lying across an end of the 
table, showing that it had been taken off to give 
place to the better one. With a hot flush at having 
so nearly been betrayed in her ‘ffussing up,” she 
ran to that, and swept it into the drawer. Then 
there was another look into the glass, and then Miss' 
Abby put on her calmest and most benign “company 
manners,” and opened the door as if the knock had 
just been heard, and not at all as if Otis had been 
knocking his toes against the threshold to keep them 
warm while she took the time to fuss up. 


102 


THE COUNTY FAlTt. 


“I thought mebbe yeou wasn’t to hum,” said Otis, 
standing in the door-way muffled up to the eyes, 
and looking as if he would not budge a step until he 
was invited, as if he were doubtful on that point. 

“Fer the land’s sake, Otis! is that yeou? What 
brings yeou here? Don’t stand there. Why don’t 
yeou come in an’ be sociable? Set daown. Not to 
hum? Good land! where would I be? I was jest 
a-settin’ here, wonderin’ if any o’ the neighbors 
would look in. Didn’t think to see you. Kinder 
late, ain’t it? Here, let me help yeou.” 

And Miss Abby, talking, and doing, and smiling 
with overflowing hospitality, led Otis in and un- 
wound him from a voluminous muffler and a capa- 
cious overcoat, and seated him in one of those old- 
fashioned, high - backed, wooden rocking - chairs 
whose ample seats and rounded arms seem to invite 
comfort. 

”Ye-as,” drawled Otis, as he composed himself 
with a sort of shy luxuriousness in the easy-chair ; 
and then he stopped as if he had forgotten what 
else he had intended to say. 

But Miss Abby was never at a loss for words, and 
she talked a steady stream as she bustled about the 
room, beaming with conscious smiles, and making a 
pretense of tidying up the place. 

Presently she sat down in a chair similar to the 
one Otis occupied, and on the other side of the 
table. She took up some work from her sewing- 
basket, beamed over her glasses at Otis, sighed 
softly, fell back in her chair, silent with the su- 
preme happiness of the moment, and beamed once 
more at him. 

Otis felt all this, and rocked backward and for- 
ward, rubbing his hands over the arms of the chair. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


103 


as the bashful country lover will do, until he could 
gather courage to turn and look at the object of his 
adoration. As he did so, he caught her ecstatic 
glance, whereupon he blushed warmly and turned 
his head away, rocking the chair and rubbing its 
arms harder than ever. 

Miss Abby thrust out her chin, pursed her lips, 
tossed her head, suppressed a giggle, and rocked 
softly, all the while stealing glances at Otis. 

For a few moments the silence of happiness re- 
mained upon them ; then, as silence was a thing Miss 
Abby’s nature abhorred, she asked : 

^‘Real cold, wa’n’t it, coinin’ over? I was aout fer 
a spell ; went up to the village. Don’t know what I 
did go there fer. Must ’a been a special providence, 
I guess, fer there was a little gal ’most froze to 
death aout on the platform o’ the depot, waitin’ fer 
me. Come from the Mission in New York. I didn’t 
expect her, any more’n yeou’re expectin’ one yeour- 
self. An’ I didn’t go fer the mail, neither,” she said, 
meaningly, whereat he glanced ecstatically at her, 
and blushed, and she giggled consciously. “I knowed 
some one of the neighbors would be likely to bring it 
this way.” 

She peered at him over the top of her glasses so 
archly as she said this that he nearly rubbed 
blisters on his hands in his delicious confusion. 

“He, he! Ye-as,” he murmured. 

“What made you so late?” she asked, with that 
air of coy confidence which lovers of long standing 
but unfixed relations come to assume toward each 
other. 

“Ye-as. it is kind o’ late,” drawled Otis. had 
to take Miss Blood o’er hum,” 


104 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


‘'Miss Blood!” exclaimed Miss Abby, pursing her 
lips disdainfully and tossing her head. 

“Ye-as,” answered Otis, as pacifically as he could. 

“Alone?” 

“Ye-as.” 

“H’m ! Must ’a been pesky cold ridin’ with that 
old maid,” snapped Miss Abby, with fire in her 
eye. 

“Ye-as,” replied Otis, looking up with furtive shy- 
ness, “it were purty cold; but it seems tome as 
how the weather’s moderated a good bit since I 
come here.” 

“Yeou go ’way,” tittered Miss Abby, all her good 
humor restored in a moment. 

“It seems so, anyhow,” said Otis, with gallant 
insistence, and then they both laughed and blushed 
and rocked. 

Presently Miss Abby recovered. 

“What’s Miss Blood doin’ at yeour house?” 

“Bressmakin’.” 

Miss Abby rose up in her chair, and stared at Otis 
until he was extremely uncomfortable, though he 
could not guess what his present offense was. 

“Simanthy Tucker ain’t havin’ a new caliker?” 
said Miss Abby, severely. 

“Ye-as, she be.” 

“An’ this is the third caliker she’s had within the 
year, ain’t it?” 

“Guess it is,” admitted Otis, as if he fully realized 
the enormity of his sister’s offense. 

“Wa-al,” ejaculated Miss Abby, “I don’t wonder 
the papers say we are living in extravagant times. 
If two calikers a year is enough fer me, I should 
think it would do fer Simanthy, Three calikers ! Fer 
the land’s sake!” 


THE COUNTY FAlK 


105 


Having no excuse to make, and no remarks to 
utter, Otis maintained silence until some more en- 
couragins" opportunity was offered by Miss Abby. 

She stitched energetically on some bright patches 
which were some day to form a quilt, and, at last, 
having worked off the neighborly distress caused by 
Simanthy’s extravagance, looked up with a smile of 
fond interest, and asked : 

“What did yeou have for dinner to-day, Otis?’’ 

“We had a biled dinner to-day.” 

“A biled dinner? To-day?” cried Miss Abby, as 
if she could not believe the evidence of her ears. 

“Ye-as,” said Otis. 

“To-day— Wednesday !” 

“Ye-as.” 

“Fer the land’s sake ! A biled dinner on Wednes- 
day! Why can’t Simanthy keep house like any- 
body else, an’ have a biled dinner on Saturday, so’s 
to have it cold on Sunday. Upon my word! Well, 
I never did. A biled dinner on Wednesday ! What 
Simanthy can be thinkin’ of I don’t know. A biled 
—sweeps on Tuesday, like es not. My stars ! Wa-al, 
it’s no use sayin’ anything, s’pose — none o’ my bus- 
iness ; but I do like to see things go a little es 

Good land ! I believe my father’d turn over in his 
grave if I was to go on like that.” 

She stopped indignantly, and Otis, who had been 
fidgeting uneasily in his chair, seized the oppor- 
tunity to drawl out : 

“Wa-al, yeou see. Miss Abby, yeou mustn’t expect 
everybody to keep house as yeou do. Yeou’ve got 
the name all over the caounty fer yeour housekeep- 
in’, an’ ” 

“Yeou go ’way,” cried the delighted spinster. 
“Yeou’re jest a fiatterin’ me; but if I do say it my- 


106 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


self — wa-al, yeou do know suthin’ o’ the way I keep 
house, don’t yeou, Otis?” 

The question was put with such a conscious blush 
that Otis could not help recalling the fourteen years 
that he had been courting Miss Abby, and the rec- 
ollection threw him into such a tremor of bashful- 
ness that he could do nothing but rock and rub the 
arms of the chair. 

Miss Abby rocked softly, and watched him over 
the rims of her glasses. Then, seeing he was speech- 
less, she opened her mouth to say something, when 
a sudden thought struck her, and she sank back 
in her chair, and sewed assiduously for several 
seconds before she spoke. 

“Otis, I’ve some news to tell yeou,” she said at 
last. 

“Hev yeou. Miss Abby? What is it?” 

“Yeou couldn’t guess, I s’pose?” 

“No, Miss Abby, I don’t think I could.” 

“I’ve — he-he — I’ve had ” 

She stopped and threw herself back in her chair, 
and looked coquettishly at him. He turned and 
looked at her with stolid inquiry, 

“Had what. Miss Abby? Haven’t had the chil- 
blains, have ye?” 

“Chilblains! Great suds and seeds! no. I’ve 
had— did yeou put that salve on yeour chilblains, 
that I give yeou?” 

“Ye-as, I did. Miss Abby, and they’re a great deal 
better, too. I said to Simanthy, I did ” 

He seemed to have forgotten that Miss Abby had 
something to tell him, but not she ; she stopped him 
without compunction. 

“Do yeou give up tryin’ to guess the news?” 

“Ye-as, I do.” 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


107 


‘‘Yeou’ll be surprised.” 

“Will I?” 

“Um,” she answered, looking at him so coquet- 
tishly that his own glance wavered. 

“What is it, Miss Abby?” 

She smoothed her work on her lap, looking coyly 
down at it the while, and then glanced furtively up 
at him. 

“I’ve had an offer of marriage.” 

Otis opened his mouth and stared. She took the 
toe of the stocking, that lay on the table beside her, 
into her mouth, and stretched that article of wear to 
its full alarming length — it was home-made, and in- 
tended for warmth. He was stupefied. She was a 
prey to maidenly confusion, and showed it by pulling 
the stocking, rocking hard and gigs:ling hysteric- 
ally. 

Presently Otis recovered sufficiently to give voice 
to his surprise. 

“Why, Miss Abby, who in the world wants to 
marry yeou?” 

“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Miss Abby, 
bridling at once, and flashing an indignant glance 
at Otis. “My land! I didn’t know I was quite 
out of the market. Well, if I ever !” and she pursed 
her lips and adjusted herself with dignity in her 
chair. 

“Well, naow. Miss Abby,” said Otis, in great dis- 
tress of mind, “yeou don’t mean to tell me ” 

“I don’t mean to tell yeou anything. Guess I’d 
better keep my affairs to myself,” snapped the irate 
lady. 

“But, Miss Abby ” 

“I don’t know as there’s any reason why I 


108 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


shouldn’t be proposed to. My stars and garters ! 
As if I was es old es Methusalem ! ” 

“Wa-al, naow, Miss Abby ” 

“I don’t see anything so wonderful in bein’ pro- 
posed to. It don’t take everybody es long es it does 
some others.” 

‘‘I didn’t mean ” 

“No matter what yeou meant. I know what yeou 
said. Fer the land’s sake!” 

“ Who was it asked yeou?” inquired Otis, very 
humbly. 

“I don’t know es it matters. I guess I’ll keep my 
affairs to myself after this. It was a man, any- 
how.” This latter with meaning severity and a toss 
of the head. 

“Will yeou tell me who it was. Miss Abby?” de- 
manded Otis, desperately. 

“Tell yeou? Yes, I will. I ain’t afraid to. My 
stars ! yeou all make such an allfired fuss abaout it 
that — yes. I’ll tell yeou. It was Solon Hammerhead. 
There !” 

“Solon Hammerhead, Miss Abby!” 

“Yes, Solon Hammerhead. An’ I might do worse. 
He has the ’jinin’ farm, an’ he’s wuth more’n any 
two farmers in the county, so they say.” 

Miss Abby flounced in her chair, if the expression 
may be applied to one of her dignity, and, with one 
terrible look at Otis, brought her lips close together 
and went vigorously on with her sewing. 

Otis flung one leg over the other, swung his foot 
in the air, nursed his chin with his palm, wiped the 
perspiration from his neck with his handkerchief, 
and then, as his feelings became too much for him, 
turned around with extraordinary animation for 
him and exclaimed : 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


109 


^‘Great Jehoshaphat, Miss Abby ! yeou don’t mean 
to say yeou’re goin’ to marry him, do yeou?” 

Miss Abby tossed her head, shut her lips harder 
than before, and maintained disdainful silence. Otis 
went on. with a mingling of utter desperation and 
great anguish : 

“Why, Miss Abby, I’d — I’d — rather marry yeou 
myself than have that happen.” 

“No, yeou wouldn’t, Otis Tucker,” snapped Miss 
Abby. “No, yeou wouldn’t. Yeou sha’n’t marry 
me on suifrage. No man sha’n’t do that. It hasn’t 
come to that yet. Marry me yourself ! Huh!” and 
the outraged lady stared at Otis until he was about 
beside himself. 

He mopped his face and neck with an assortment 
of handkerchiefs, which he seemed to carry in his 
various pockets, he looked at Miss Abby and turned 
away at the suspicion of a glance from her, and 
finally arose and began taking off his coat, remark- 
ing as he did so : 

“It’s awful hot. Shouldn’t wonder if we had a 
thunder-shower.” 

Then Miss Abby, seeing the state to which she 
had reduced the poor man, took pity on him, and 
pulled his coat about him, saying : 

“A thunder-shower, an’ snow on the ground, and 
everything freezing. Don’t be foolish, Otis. Set 
daown. Marry Solon Hammerhead? I never said I 
would. Not if he was the last man on earth, I 
wouldn’t; but,” and she blushed and simpered, “I 
had to feel sorry even fer him.” 

Both resumed their seats, but Otis had been too 
much disturbed to find ready tongue for any words, 
and he sat nursing his knee and stealing furtive 
glances at her. She had indicated herself and her 


110 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


dignity, and she was disposed to be gracious. She 
held up the quilt she was making, saying : 

“I’m making a quilt fer the fair, Otis. Look at 
it; isn’t it pretty?” and she turned it so he could see. 

He looked at it, and then he looked at her. Per- 
haps the quilt suggested to him visions of housekeep- 
ing on joint account, and perhaps this vision was re- 
llected in his eyes so that she could detect it there. 
At any rate, both of them blushed, she giggled, he 
chuckled, and bo h then fell back in their chairs and 
rocked hard. It was a delicious moment. Both 
were repaid for the misunderstanding of the mo- 
ment previous. 

“Anything new daown yeour way, Otis?” asked 
she, in a propitiatory tone. 

“Why, no. Miss Abby,” he drawled, “I don’t 
know nothin’ new.” Then, with a complimentary 
leer, “I always come to yeou to find aout the 
news.” 

“No, do yeou, though?” she retorted, and both 
smiled and looked at each other, as lovers will do. 

“Ye-as, I do, really,” he replied, and then sank 
back in confusion at his own boldness. 

“Wa-al, I have some news to tell, sure enough,” 
said Miss Abby, presently. 

“Have ye?” 

“Um. Who d’yeou think’s engaged?” 

Otis started as if he had been stung. He was in 
no condition to stand another shock. He stared 
dumbly for a moment, and then blurted out : 

“Great Gosh, Miss Abby, not yeou?” 

She smiled coquettishly, as if the guess might be 
reasonable enough, but relieved his mind by saying: 

“Why, no, Otis; I don’t want all the offers. I’m 
willing to give others a chance. Can’t yeou guess?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Ill 


said Otis, thinking a moment, and then 
shaking his head, ‘‘I don’t know as I can. Who is?” 

“My Sally and Joel Bartlett!” 

“Yeou don’t say so! Wa-al, naow, I am sur- 
prised.” 

“I thought yeou would be.” 

“Why, Miss Abby, I didn’t even know they was 
keepin’ company. Wa-al, I swow! Beats all, don’t 
it?” 

“So it do.” 

“Kind o’ young to be ’gaged, ain’t they?” 

“Young? Yes; but, my stars, Otis! everybody 
ain’t the patience to wait forever to be ’gaged.” 

Otis dropped his eyes and softly drummed on the 
table. He wished very heartily he had some of 
Joel’s youthful audacity at that moment. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

OTIS STARTS FOR NEW YORK. 

There was silence for a few moments between 
them, and then Miss Abby took pity on the evident 
discomfort of her suitor, and turned the conversa- 
tion into a more common place channel. 

“I’d like to know what that post-office is fer,” she 
said. “Don’t nobody git no letters? I don’t.” 

“Why, ye-as. Miss Abby,” answered Otis, with a 
heavily dispassionate air, “there are some gits let- 
ters. I got one myself t’other day.” 

“Did yeou, naow?” said she, with a smile of inter- 
est. 

“Oh, ye-as, I got one.” 

“Who from? Anybody I know?” 

“Ye-as, it lyas from Brother John, in Few Yprk,’' 


112 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘^Yeou don’t tell me!” and Miss Abby settled her- 
self to hear the news. “How was he getting along? 
They tell me he’s makin’ money.” 

“I guess he’s doin’ real well, but he seemed to be 
sort o' sick when he writ.” 

“Sick? What was the matter? Did he say?” 

“Wa-al, I don’t rightly remember, Miss Abby.” 

“Don’t remember! My stars and garters ! Yeou 
must ’a took a sight o’ interest in what he said.” 

“Why, yeou see, Miss Abby, I didn’t git that far.” 

“Didn’t git that far? What d’yeou mean?” 

“I didn’t read it all ” 

“What?” 

“I started to read it, an’ I hadn’t got far when 
somethin’ interrupted me, an’ I put it away an’ 
never thought o’ it again till yeou spoke just naow.” 

“It’s a mercy I spoke, then. Was he very sick?” 

“Wa-al, from the way he writ, I guess he was 
purty low.” 

“My goodness, Otis Tucker! an’ here yeou sit 
an’ ^ Where is the letter?” 

“I’ve got it somewhere, if I ain’t left it to hum.” 

“Ho doubt. Let me see if yeou’ve got it. Yeour 
brother a-dyin’ mebbe, an’ yeou a-settin’ there as 
calm as a stone. Fer the land’s sake, Otis Tucker, 
ain’t yeou got no feelin’s nor affections? Where is 
that letter?” 

“I’m lookin’ fer it. Miss Abby.” 

And so he was. He was searching as an absent- 
minded man usually searches. He felt nervously in 
one pocket after another of his coat, vest, and trou- 
sers, but without avail, and was repeating the pro- 
cess when Miss Abby impatiently arose and went to 
him to assist in the search. 

She thrust her hand into first one and then 


TBE COUNTY FAIR. 


113 


another pocket of his coat, bringing forth at each 
withdrawal of her hand an assortment of handker- 
chiefs, which made her sniff contemptuously, and 
then exclaimed: 

“Well, I must say, yeour sister ain’t no hand fer 
picking up a wash,” and then she replaced the 
handkerchiefs with an air that showed she had her 
own opinion of a woman who did not look more into 
the pockets of her brother. 

Having failed to find the letter in any of his outer 
pockets, Otis now opened his vest, and was putting 
his hand into his inside pocket, when Miss Abby 
uttered a scream that made him jump with fright. 

“What’s that? What’s that?” cried she, with a 
look of horror, pointing to the region of his waist- 
band. 

Otis turned pale with the vague notion that a 
snake, or some other dangerous thing, had found its 
way there. 

“I don’t see nuthin’,” he said, wildly. 

Miss Abby relaxed from her attitude of frozen hor- 
ror and pounced upon his waistband. She snatched 
something from it, and held it up with an air that 
was tragic. 

“His trousers are nailed on!” was all she could 
say as she held a rusty nail between her thumb and 
finger. 

Otis looked at the nail with an air of relief, which 
changed speedily into one of dismay, as he felt that 
the needed support of his nether garment had been 
removed. He caught his suspender with one hand 
and his trousers with the other, and hastily snatched 
at the nail. 

Miss Abby, regardless of his need, threw it on the 


114 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


table, whence he rescued it, and nailed himself to- 
gether again. 

“Upon my word !” exclaimed Miss Abby. “I should 
think yeour sister could keep one man in repair. I 
guess I'd better get a sewing-bee and have yeou put 
in order.'' 

“Wa-al, naow. Miss Abby," remonstrated Otis, 
“Simanthy didn't know nothin' abaout this." 

“Wa-al, she ought, then, that's all I’ve got to say 
abaout it. Where’s that letter? Fer the land’s sake ! 
the man's brother may be dyin' at this moment, fer 
all we know, an' he can’t find the letter." 

“Here it is!" cried Otis, triumphantly, and he 
produced from his inner vest-pocket a soiled and 
crumpled letter, which he handed to Miss Abby. 

She took it, and turned it over with an air of dis- 
gust. 

He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. 

“Looks as if yeou’d used it to wipe yeour feet on," 
said she. 

“Hadn't yeou better read it, Miss Abby?" said 
Otis. 

“Wa-al, somebody'd better read it," she retorted. 

They sat down, and she rubbed her glasses, and 
opened the letter. 

“Perhaps there's something in it I oughtn't to 
see," she said. 

“Jest as lief the minister would read it," he an- 
swered. 

So she took it up, and began: 

Hear Brother : — I write this to let you know 
that I am fiat on my back ' " 

Miss Abby interrupted herself to say : 

“ ‘Yeour folks don’twrite to yeou except when 



“BUT, MISS ABBY,” DRAWLED OTIS, “THIS LETTER WAS WRIT 
TWO YEARS AGO I”— (P. 44.) 



116 


THE COUNTY FAlU. 


they are in trouble, and then they give it to yeou 
first crack. I wonder what’s the matter with him? 
He always was a delicate critter. Poor John! What 
was it he had last time? Plumbager, wa’n’t it? It 
runs in yeour family. Yeour father had it in his 
right leg, hadn’t he?” 

“I guess mebbe he had,” said Otis, who, however, 
had no recollection of any such thing. 

Miss Abby resumed the letter. 

“ ‘Flat on my back, and if you do not come to my 
assistance at once shall be past hope.’ ” 

Miss Ahby’s sympathetic heart was touched. Her 
handkerchief went to her eyes, and with a faint sob 
she turned to Otis, and faintly asked : 

“When did yeou get this letter? This morning?” 

“Not this mornin’. Miss Abby.” 

“Yesterday?” 

“No-o, not yesterday,” faltered Otis. 

“When did yeou get it?” 

“Why, yeou see. Miss Abby ” Otis began. 

“When did yeou get this letter?” she repeated, 
raising her voice, and emphasizing “letter.” 

“Why, yeou see. Miss Abby ” 

“When did yeou get this letter?” the emphasis on 
“when” this time, and the voice a little louder. 

“Why, Miss Abby ” 

“When,” very loud and imperative, “did yeou get 
this letter?” 

Otis yielded. 

“Abaout three weeks ago. Miss Abby.” 

“Three weeks ago!” repeated Miss Abby, in a 
hollow voice. “Oh, Otis Tucker!” 

Otis shrank within himself, and turned his head 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


117 


away. Miss Abby, after an awful pause, resumed 
the letter in a tearful tone : 

‘‘ ‘I will tell you the whole story in a few words. 
We watered our stock ’ 

“He has a stock farm in the city. I didn’t know 
that,” said Miss Abby. 

“No more did I,” replied Otis. 

“Wa-al, it don’t surprise me,” said she, “fer he 
comes by it nat ’rally. Yeour father was always a 
great hand fer stock.” 

The letter was taken up again. 

“ ‘We watered our stock last fall’ ” — the two ex- 
changed surprised looks — “ ‘and intended to do so 
again this spring ’ 

“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Miss Abby, “is 
water so scarce as that in the city?” 

“Likes es not.” 

“Wa-al, it’s a mercy his stock lived through it. His 
caows must ’a all dried up. I wonder how they git 
through their washin’.” 

Otis shook his head as if the problem was beyond 
him. Miss Abby read again : 

“ ‘Intended to do so again this spring, but the 
bears got into the street and slaughtered the bulls 
in short order.” 

Miss Abby slapped the letter into her lap and 
stared at Otis indignantly. He stared wonderingly 
back. 

“What sort of a cock-and-bull story is this, any- 
how?” she demanded. “Yeour brother John may 
have a stock farm in New York city— I don’t say he 
hain’t— like enough he has— but he needn’t tell me 
no such a story as this abaout bears runnin' loose in 


118 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


the streets eatin’ the bulls up. I know better’n 
that. There couldn’t no bears be there.” 

‘T don’t think John ’ud lie, Miss Abby, I don’t,” 
protested Otis, mildly. 

“John, or no John,” said she, indignantly, “I 
ain’t goin’ to believe no such story. How could 
there be any bears in the street — unless,” she said, 
hesitatingly, “there might have been a circus in 
taown.” 

“That’s it,” said Otis, triumphantly. “Like es 
not there was, fer I don’t think John ’ud lie.” 

“Yes,” said she, reflectively, “it must ’a been a 
circus. How true it is, our minister says, that we 
should be so careful in judging hastily.” 

Again she took up the letter. 

“ ‘The next thing we knew the bottom of our 
gold mine had dropped out ’ 

“Do yeou hear that, Otis? — the bottom of his gold 
mine fell aout!” 

“Where d’yeou s’pose it fell to. Miss Abby?” 

“I don’t know; but them as does know — there’s 
our minister, he says the center of the earth is a 
flery mass ” 

“Then,” said Otis, with a startled look, “the bot- 
tom of the mine’s gone to the devil ” 

Miss Abby started up with a scream of horror, and 
covered her face with her apron, while she whis- 
pered : 

“Oh, oh! Otis, Otis! If anybody should have 
heard yeou!” 

She wrung her hands and looked so dismayed that 
Otis began to look for some way of escaping. 

It was several moments before Miss Abby could re- 
cover her equanimity. Then she resumed the read- 
ing of the letter, 


TEE COUNTY FAIB. 


119 


y ‘The upshot of the whole affair is that I am 
laid out flat on my back, and if you do not come to 
my assistance I shall be as good as buried ’ 

“That’s enough. -I don’t want to read any more,” 
cried Miss Abby. “Yeour brother is dyin’, may be 
dead by this time, and yeou don’t no more care — 
what are yeou doin’ here? Why don’t yeou go to 
him? My stars an’ garters ! Yeou ought to he there 
by this time. Otis Tucker, didn’t yeou promise yeour 
father on his dyin’ bed that yeou’d be a father to 
that boy, an’ is this the way you fulfill that dyin’ 
request?” 

“Why, Miss Abby, I thought I would go jest as 
soon as the roads had dried up a little,” drawled 
Otis. 

“The roads dried up! Great suds and seeds ! They 
won’t be dried up fer a month yet, an’ yeour brother 
lyin’ flat on his back, knockin’ at death’s door like 
as not, mebbe dead an’ buried. Wait till the roads 
is dried up I Otis Tucker, yeou are goin’ to him this 
night. Sally! Joel! Otis, when does the first train 
go?” 

Sally came running in. 

“wiiat’s the matter. Miss Abby?” 

“Matter enough! Otis’ brother John is dyin’ in 
New York city, an’ Otis is going to go to him naow. 
When does the next train go?” 

“I don’t know. Miss Abby,” said Sally. 

“But my boots ain’t greased,” expostulated Otis. 

“Boots ain’t greased!” repeated the energetic 
spinster. “I’ll grease ’em fer yeou! Sally, tell 
Joel to harness up Otis’ team. Otis, take them 
boots off. Come into the kitchen. Oh, there yeou 
are, Joel. Joel, what time does the next train go?’^ 

“At eleven o’clock. Miss Abby.” 


120 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


''Then it’s too late/’ said Otis. "I won’t have time 
to go home first.” 

"Go home, Otis Tucker!” cried Miss Abby. "Don’t 
yeou know that yeou are goin’ to start right from 
that very spot where yeou stand. There ain’t no 
time to go home, an’ yeou’re not goin’. Come into 
the kitchen!” 

She flew into the kitchen, and caught up a saucer 
of tallow, and went with it to the stove to melt it. 

"Not a spark of fire!” she cried. "Sally, if yeou 

an’ Joel can’t do any better than this ” She 

flew into the next room again, dragging Otis with 
her, and scolding as she went. "Meltin’ taller at 
the settin’-room fire. If my father was to see this 

he’d Otis, take off them boots! Joel, help him! 

What are yeou good fer, anyhow? Taggs, ketch hold 
o’ that chair.” 

Taggs, in high spirits in the midst of so much ex- 
citement, caught hold of the back of the chair Otis 
sat in, and pulled it with all her little strength, while 
Joel applied his strength to the boot. When it came 
it came in a hurry, and the three operators stretched 
their lengths on the floor. 

Miss Abby rubbed and talked at the same time ; 
Taggs, to her infinite delight, descried a hole in the 
heel of Otis’ stocking, and pointed it out to Miss 
Abby, who groaned over the carelessness of Siman- 
thy, and threatened to hurl the boot she held in her 
hand at Taggs if she did not desist from trying to 
tickle the heel of the unconscious Otis. 

The excitement was at fever heat, and after a 
while it warmed even Otis, and he drew on his well- 
greased boots with an air of determination. 

"Wa-al,” he. said, "if I’m going I’d better he 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


121 


a-startin’. Joel, is the team ready? Where’s my 
overcoat?” 

Miss Abby snatched up the coat and worried him 
into it. She flung his comforter at him, and jammed 
his hat on his head. She ran out of the room and 
back again ; she talked of everything and nothing. 
Suddenly she cried out : 

‘‘Goin’ on an empty stomach? Sally, bring some- 
thing fer Otis to take with him. Sally, run up stairs 
and git that carpet-bag out o’ the garret — in the 
north end, behind the hair trunk. And, Sally, 
bring down that bag of hops that’s hangin’ at the 
south end. Otis, I don’t know what’s the matter 
with John, whether he was hurt when the bottom 
dropped aout o’ the mine, which is most likely, or 
not ; but this I do know, that fer neuralgie an’ pains, 
plumbago an’ the like, there’s nothin’ so good as 
hops. Take this bag— when Sally flnds it — Sally! 
have yeou found that bag o’ hops? Yeou take the 
hops an’ set them in lukewarm water on the back of 

the stove, an’ let them Sally! have yeou found 

them? — I’ll go myself,” and gathering up her skirts, 
so that her feet might have full play, she darted up 
the stairs, and presently down, carrying the carpet- 
bag and bag of hops. 

Otis stood in one spot all the time, never moving. 
Taggs sat in a chair, curled up like a kitten, watch- 
ing the proceedings with sparkling eyes, and eating 
an apple with intense enjoyment. She said nothing 
until there was a lull in the conversation. Miss 
Abby keeping silence for want of breath. With 
her head contemplatively on one side, and her knife 
pointing him out, she ejaculated, with a chuckle of 
delight : 

“Think of that lamb on the Bowery!” 


122 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


‘^What?’’ exclaimed Miss Abby, sharply. 

“Got yer name in yer hat, mister?’’ demanded 
Tagffs, dextrously hacking a piece out of the apple, 
and tossing it into her mouth. 

“No-o,” answered Otis, slowly. 

“Well, you’d better put it in then; that’s all I’ve 
got ter say.” 

“What fer?” demanded Miss Abby. 

“So’s they’ll know who he is when he’s killed, 
that’s all.” 

“Killed! Oh, Otis!” cried Miss Abby, turning 
pale. 

Then Joel spoke up: 

“That’s so. Miss Abby. Don’t yeou remember Sam 
Crittenden went to Boston — an’ that ain’t half as 
bad as New York — an’ he was never heard of after- 
ward.” 

“Oh, Otis!” again cried Miss Abby, her womanly 
fears overcoming her, “don’t go. There’s no knowin’ 
what may happen to yeou. ” 

“Oh, I ain’t afraid,” said Otis, manfully. “If 
Brother John can git along, I guess .1 can. Why, I 
could flop him every time he tried to rastle with me.” 

“But, oh, naow I come to think on it, Otis, I’ve 
read in the papers how wicked the aldermen are ; 
an’ if the selectmen are so bad, what must the 
other people be? Don’t go, Otis.” 

“Ye-as, I will go. I ain’t afraid. An’ naow, I’ve 
got my boots greased, I ain’t goin’ to back aout.” 

“Look here, mister,” said Taggs, cocking her eye 
at him with appalling knowingness. 

“What is it, Taggs, dear?” said Miss Abby, in a 
tremor. 

Taggs skipped from her chair, and took up her 
position in front of Otis, to give him a friendly 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


123 


warning, emphasizing her words with little dabs of 
the knife. 

“When you gits inter the city, some one’ll come 
up to you an’ say he knows you an’ all yer folks; 
but don’t you take no stock in him.” 

“Taggs,” said Miss Abby, “he isn’t going to buy 
no stock; he’s goin^ to see his dyin’ brother.” 

“Oh, come off! If some cove comes up to you an’ 
says he knows you, mister, jest you haul off an’ 
give him a smack in the snoot, fer his name is 
Bunco Bill, an’ he’s n. g., and don’t you fergit it.” 

“Oh, Otis, don’t go to such a wicked place,” 
wailed Miss Abby. 

But Otis was determined now, and he could be as 
obstinate as the next one when he was roused. 

“I’m goin’, I tell yeou. I ain’t afraid. Joel, is the 
team ready?” 

“All ready, Otis,” and Joel, followed by Sally and 
Taggs, ran out to see Otis take his departure. 

Otis remained behind with Miss Abby, who looked 
at him with a mournful eye. 

“Otis,” she said, faintly, “have yeour— and, o’ 
goodness ! I forgot to put some vittles in yeour bag.” 

She ran from the room, and Otis pulled out his 
great silver watch to see the time. The sight of the 
watch gave him an idea. 

“ ’Twon’t do to take this with me,” he said. 
“Somebody ’d be sure to steal it. I guess I’ll leave it 
here till I come back.” 

He unfastened the chain, and looked around for 
some convenient place to put the watch. The first 
thing that struck his eye was Tage:s’ little tin box in 
which she kept her mending materials, and which 
she had put on the dresser. He slipped his watch 
and chain in it, and put it on the top shelf, just as 


124 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Miss Abby was returning with a pan full of bread 
and cake. 

He tried to tell her what he had done, but she was 
too full of what she was doing to give him much of 
her attention, and so finally, in the midst of her 
fiood of talk, he forgot to tell her. 

She filled his carpet-bag with bread and cake, and 
then put it into his hand, and stood looking at him 
with clasped hands and tears streaming down her 
face. He knew she was crying, and knew she was 
waiting for him to shake hands and go, but his emo- 
tion took a different form from hers, and made him 
as stolid and motionless as a log. He stood still, 
gazing fixedly at a speck on the wall. 

Miss Abby made several abortive efforts to take 
his hand, her’s going out spasmodically and return- 
ing to her side as if worked by a spring. Presently 
he ejaculated the formula of many another Wednes- 
day evening. 

‘‘Wa-al, I guess I must be going.” 

Then she caught his hand, gave it a hard squeeze, 
choked back a sob, and cried : 

‘‘Good-by, Otis.” 

He did not look at her, but darted out of the door, 
and was gone. She looked after him with clasped 
hands and tearful face. Then she turned to sit down, 
and her eye caught one of his gloves lying on the 
table. She caught it up and ran after him. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

TWO OLD FRIENDS. 

Taggs ran in as Miss Abby ran out. She was 
shivering with the cold, but did not mind that, for 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


125 


she was used to it, and she was too full of the fun 
of sending Otis off to think of it. 

She had been giving him all sorts of startling ad- 
vice as to how to conduct himself in the big city, 
and had taken a sort of uncanny delight in seeing 
his eyes grow big with wonder at the danger sug- 
gested by her. 

She threw off her tattered old shawl and rubbed 
her hands over the fire with a little squeal of de- 
light, looking around the cozy room with a degree 
of pleasure that she had never realized before in the 
whole of her wretched little life. 

Her roving eye fell upon the nut cakes and bread 
which Miss Abby had been unable to stuff into the 
carpet bag, and, although the ravenous wolf of her 
hunger had been satisfied long since, she ran over 
to the table and snatched a cake in each hand, and 
took alternate bites, for the mere sake of eating, 
dancing a sort of shuffie step in the exuberance of 
her happiness. 

It was to her as if she had suddenly fallen into 
fairy -land, and she could hardly enjoy herself 
enough. Her soul, as starved for kindness as her 
body was for food, reveled in the homely, peaceful 
atmosphere. 

She threw herself on the lounge, her feet where 
her head should be, and munched her nut cakes. As 
she lay there, in the shadow of the room, the door 
softly opened, and some one stealthily entered. 

She heard, but did not move, thinking it some 
member of the family. 

The intruder was, however, no member of the 
family, but a thin-faced, prematurely old-looking 
boy, not yet sixteen years of age. He stole into the 
room, softly closing the door after him, with a fur- 


126 


TEE COUNTY FAIB. 


tive, hang-dog air that augured ill for his intentions 
in intruding there. 

He stopped in front of the fire, put his hands over 
it, and stood there as if he could not tear himself 
away from the grateful warmth. He turned his 
hands over to warm the backs of them, and huddled 
himself into a heap as if to get his whole body 
nearer to the blaze. 

His head was constantly turning, to enable him to 
hear if any footsteps should be approaching’ and he 
had an air of being ready to run at the first alarm. 

Presently he sighed with relief as the warmth pene- 
trated to his blood, and he rubbed his hands over 
and OA^er, as if washing them in the red blaze. 

The sigh caught the ear of Taggs, and she lazily 
turned her head, and looked to see who it was. The 
moment her eye fell upon the ragged stranger she 
softly lifted her head, and swung around to a sit- 
ting posture, saying nothing, but watching with an 
alert and curious eye. 

A country-bred child would have cried out in ter- 
ror at the sight of such a suspicious looking stranger, 
but Taggs had consorted with too many such to 
have any unreasonable fear; she merely waited 
with the utmost coolness, to thwart any evil designs 
he might have. 

She watched him with her elbows on her knees 
and her chin in her hands, and perhaps she said 
nothing as he warmed himself, because she could 
appreciate how good it must be to him. 

But presently he turned his head, and saw the 
food on the table. He made a quick, involuntary 
start toward it, stopped himself, and turned reso- 
lutely away, then seemed to hold an argument wuth 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


127 


himself, and with a shrug of the shoulders and a 
reckless toss of the head stole across the room. 

“No, you don’t,” said Taggs, calmly. 

The boy turned with a hunted, frightened look to 
where Taggs sat. She was making ready to pour 
out upon him a homily suitable from such as she to 
such as he, when of a sudden she sprang up and 
stared at him for a moment, and then ran to the 
door and opened it a little way. 

He sprang after her, and caught her appealingly 
by the arm, crying, huskily : 

“For God’s sake, don’t give me away! I didn’t 
take nothin’. Let me out, will yer?” 

“Shut up, will yer!” was her response, and she 
held up her hand warningly. 

He was minded to use his strength fco move her 
out of his way, but something in her manner re- 
strained him, and presently she whispered : 

“They’re all out at the barn, foolin’ around the 
horses. Quick now! Is that you, Tim?” she turned 
to him, and shut the door behind her, bolting it as 
she did so. “Don’t ye know me?” 

He stared at her with a mingling of apprehension 
and curiosity. A startled, incredulous look of recog- 
nition stole into his eyes as he gazed at her. 

“Not— not ” 

“Well, you can jest bet your sweet life it is, then,” 
said she, making a mouth, and striking an attitude. 

“Not Taggs?” 

“Well, I should smile, Tim. How did you get out 
o’ jail, Tim?” 

“Served me time,” he sullenly answered. 

“You struck the wrong shebang when you lit 
down here, Tim; there ain’t nothin’ to steal here.” 


128 


THE COUNTY FAIJR. 


“I didn’t come here to steal,” he indignantly an- 
swered. 

‘‘Oh, no, I s’pose not,” was the incredulous com- 
ment. 

“Didn’t I tell yer! I was near frozen to death, an’ 
so hungry, Taggs! Gimme somethin’ to eat, will 
yer, Taggs?” 

“Go on, take it. Yer don’t s’pose I’ve forgot old 
times, do yer? I guess not. Taggs don’t go back 
on no old friends, if she knows herself. Take it, but 
hurry up, Tim, fer the old cuckoo’ll be back in a 
minit, an’ I don’t want her to bounce me, I don’t. 
You bet your sweet life this is velvet, this is.” 

“^ow came you to be here, Taggs?” demanded 
Tim, as he hurriedly stowed his pockets full of 
bread and cake. 

“Mission,” answered Taggs, sententiously. 
“Hurry up, Tim, or you’ll have me sent away. 
Hurry! I hear some one coming. Oh. hide, hide 1 
Oh, I’ll be sent back! Oh, Tim, Tim, what’ll I do?” 

“Shut up yer noise, Taggs,” said Tim, bending 
his head to listen. “They’re all a cornin’. I can’t 
git out.” He glanced around quickly, and darted 
toward the door of an old Dutch oven. “I’ll git in 
here till they’re all abed; then I’ll dust.” 

Taggs stood wringing her hands until she saw 
him safely in the oven. Then she ran to the little 
iron door, and pleaded : 

“Don’t hook nothin’, will yer, Tim? They‘d lay 
it onter me, and I’d get the sack sure!” 

“Hook anything! D’ye think I’d steal anything 
from Miss Abby? Hot much. Not from anybody 
else, either. Go on and open that door, or they’ll 
suspect something. Go on, d’ye hear?” 

Miss Abby was indignantly rattling at the door 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


129 


as he spoke, and Taggs had recovered her wits only 
just in time to see Joel and Sally come running in 
from the kitchen to open the door for Miss Abby. 

When the door of the sitting-room did not open at 
the first trial, Sally had run to the window and 
peered in. At the sight of Taggs standing over by 
the oven, wringing her hands and giving other 
signs of distress, she had at once darted around to 
the kitchen door and entered by that way. 

'She first unbolted the door, and then ran to' Taggs, 
crying out : 

‘‘What’s the matter, Taggs? What is it?” 

But before she could answer Miss Abby bounded 
in and had her say, which was sufficiently prolonged 
to give the child time to recover her wits. 

“Fer the land's sake! what’s the matter with the 
young one? Boltin’ the door behind a body’s back 
like that! My stars! Wa-al, what’s the matter with 
yeou, Sally Greenaway — making motions in that 
way! My land! a body ’d think ” 

“I think. Miss Abby,” said Sally, “that Taggs is 
frightened about something. Are yeou, Taggs?” 

“Yes, ma’am, if you please, ma’am, I thought I 
heard burglars,” whimpered Taggs. 

“Burglars! Great suds and seeds! what would 
burglars be doin’ here? There, child, don’t be so 
foolish. Run away and help Sally to make me a 
cup o’ tea. I don’t care fer anything to eat, Sally; 
but make the tea a leetle might strong, please, 
that’s a dear child. I feel powerful wrought up, an’ 
my nerves is shaky.” 

Sally and Taggs went into the kitchen, though the 
heart of the latter sank within her as she thought 
of Tim ensconced in the oven ; but there was no 


130 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


alternative, so she resigned herself, and followed 
Sally. 

Miss Abby held the glove which Otis had left be- 
hind, and when she was alone glanced at it with a 
smile of affection. 

‘'Otis’ glove!” she said, tenderly, stroking it 
gently. “It has warmed his dear hand so often. 
The poor little hand I How cold it will be naow?” 

She looked at it until her eyes, dimmed with tears 
of solicitude for him, could see it no longer, when 
she pressed it impulsively to her lips, and then, with 
a furtive glance around, and a blush of maidenly 
modesty, opened the bosom of her gown and de- 
posited the precious souvenir therein. 

When Sally and Taggs returned with the tea she 
was sitting in her chair, rocking pensively to and 
fro, and a far-way smile was on her lips. Taggs 
noted with uneasiness that she sat by the side of the 
oven door, and her fears made her dread the worst. 

She looked anxiously at Miss Abby’s face, to see 
if she could detect anything in it that seemed like a 
knowledge of her guilt, and it seemed to her that 
Miss Abby turned and glanced at her with a mean- 
ing look. Only her loyalty to Tim prevented her 
making a full confession at that moment. She had 
been with Miss Abby long enough to dread leaving 
her, and there was a great deal of courage required 
to make her jeopardize her own future for Tim’s 
sake. 

‘T made it extra strong and hot, Miss Abby,” said 
Sally, affectionately, as she deposited the tray on 
the table by the good lady’s side. 

“Thank you, Sally. Poor Otis! he ain’t havin’ 
a good cup o’ tea, is he?” 

And she sighed. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


131 


^'Oh, he’s all right, Miss Abby; don’t worry 
abaout him.” 

won’t, Sally ; but New York is a real wicked 
place. Ah-h ! that goes to the right spot, Sally,” and 
the spinster gently smacked her lips over a steam- 
ing draught of the hot decoction. 

- She had poured out a cup for herself, and then 
turned a part of it into her saucer, in the fashion 
approved by tea-topers, and was thus sipping it. A 
second cup was drunk before she found herself at 
peace with all the world. 

Sally took away the tray, and Miss Abby turned 
to her work-basket — the thing, next to a cup of tea, 
which the New England housewife finds most com- 
forting. On top of the work-basket lay the little 
book which Taggs had brought from the Mission. 

^'My stars!” muttered she, ‘‘if here ain’t that 
child’s Sunday-school lesson a starin’ me right in the 
face, to remind me o’ my duty. Turned down to the 
very spot, too. Wa-al, if I don’t do nothin’ else this 
night, I will hear her that lesson. Taggs!” 

She raised her voice and recalled Taggs, who had, 
after studying her furtively for some seconds, be- 
gun to steal softly out of the room. 

Taggs, a prey to all the terrors her imagination 
could call up, went to the table with a beating heart. 
Miss Abby had the book open in her lap, but with 
Vermont thrift, had her work in her hands, so that 
Taggs could not know that it was only her Sunday- 
school lesson that lay before her. 

“Who was it,” began Miss Abby, bending a se- 
rious look upon the trembling child, “that was put 
inter a fiery furnace?” 

For an instant Taggs stood spell-bound. She had 
dreaded, had feared being discovered, but she had 


132 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


hardly expected it. And now it had come upon her 
in one blow. She stared at Miss Abby and she stared 
at the oven, then she set up a sort of howl and cried 
out: 

“Please, ma’am, I didn’t do it. Indeed I didn’t. 
I — I— please don’t send me away! Oh, oh, oh!” 

“Good land! What’s the matter with the child! 
Didn’t do it? Who said yeou did do it? My stars! 
Why, the child must be a heathen ! What are yeou 
talking about? Who said ” 

But Taggs was in too perturbed a condition of 
mind to see light in Miss Abby’s remarks, and she 
only redoubled her howls. 

“I didn’t mean ter. Miss Abby. He was so good to 
me when I was a kid ” 

“Great suds and seeds! Who’s talkin’ ’baout 
goats? Good land! Can’t yeou answer a plain, 
easy question? Who put — no, who was put inter the 
fiery furnace?” • 

By this time the occupant of the oven was as 
much disturbed as Taggs, for he saw that if the 
child were not put on the right track she would 
presently divulge the fact of his being there in 
hiding. 

At the imminent risk of being seen by Miss Abby, 
whose head was within reach from the oven, he 
took advantage of a moment when her head was 
turned toward Taggs, to thrust his own head out of 
the oven, to the horror of Taggs, who believed he 
was meditating an assault upon her benefactress, 
and motioned with his hand toward the book in Miss 
Abby’s lap. 

Taggs’ horrified stare, coupled with her incom- 
prehensible howls and incoherent language, so 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


133 


effected Miss Abby that she began to think the 
child had gone out of her mind. 

But, of a sudden, the truth penetrated to Taggs’ 
brain, and then her revulsion of feeling was so 
great that Miss Abby began to be frightened. 

‘‘Oh, I know, I know!’’ yelled Taggs, springing to 
the side of the table and dancing up and down like 
one possessed. “I know, I know!” and she caught 
up Miss Abby’s spectacle case and waved it before 
the astonished lady’s eyes. “I know — it was Sham 
— Shamrock, Murdock, and Ben Jingo.” 

Then she subsided as suddenly as she had begun. 
Miss Abby leaned back in her chair, and was silent 
for a space of ten seconds — a long period for her 
ready tongue— before she could say : 

“Are you done?” 

“Yes, ’um,” said Taggs, with glib and easy con- 
fidence. 

“Do yeou have a fit like that every time yeou say 
yeour lesson?” 

“Yes, ’um, pretty much.” 

“Wa-al, we’ll soak yeour feet in hot mustard 
water ’fore yeou go to hed to-night, an’ give yeou 
some saffern tea; an’ yeou got to know yeour lesson 
better’n that next time. Last lesson, too. Guess 
yeou didn’t know it any too good before. Sham- 
rock! Murdock! Does the child think they was 
Irish, or Scotch, or what, I’d like to know?” 

Taggs checked an insane desire to dance over 
her deliverance, and answered meekly, but with a 
knowing wink at the oven door : 

“Yes, ’um.” 

“Great suds an’ seeds! Yeou thought them old 
martyrs was Irish ” 


134 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


“No’m!’’ said Taggs, quickly seeing she had made 
a mistake. 

“Wa-al, yeou be sure yeou know yeour lesson bet- 
ter next time.” 

“Bet yer sweet life I will!” said Taggs, earnestly. 

“What!” exclaimed the horrified lady; “bet on 
yeour Sunday-school lesson ! Don’t yeou know it’s 
wrong to bet?” 

“Bet ye a cent I don’t bet again!” Taggs has- 
tened to say. 

Miss Abby looked at her over her glasses, but said 
nothing more on that subject. 

“Ask Sally to come here, and we’ll have our 
hymn before we go to bed,” she said. 

Taggs did as she was bidden ; and after some con- 
sultation to discover what hymn Taggs was most 
familiar with, Sally sat down at the melodeon, and 
played, and all sang, Taggs in a sweet young treble 
and Miss Abby in a powerful nasal. 

“Sally,” said Miss Abby, after the singing, “be 
sure yeou give Taggs a night-gown. Good-night, 
Taggs ; Heaven bless yeou, dear. I hope yeou will 
sleep well. Good-night, Sally!” 

She kissed them both, and they went up stairs. 
She made the round of the house to see that it was 
locked up, and was about to put the lights out, when 
it occurred to her that the cat was not yet in ; so she 
put her head out of the door, and called until the 
truant came. 

She scolded her, and breathed a prayer that Otis 
might be preserved from all the dangers of the 
strange city to which he was going, and particularly 
that he might not fall into the hands of one Wil- 
liam Bunco, of whom Taggs had told such fearful 
stories, or intimated them, which was as bad. 


TIIE COUNTY FAIR. 


135 


A last look around betrayed to her the fact that 
the oven, in which she kept her preserves, was 
not locked. She found the key for that, locked it, 
put the key in her pocket, and was about to retire to 
her room, which was on the same floor, when she 
was startled by a crash. 

With a woman’s natural impulse, she gathered up 
her skirts, emitted a faint scream, and bounded 
into the air. The crash was caused by Tim, who had 
backed away from the door of the oven when Miss 
Abby approached it, and who had stumbled against 
and disturbed some bottles, one of which, after roll- 
ing over and over, finally fell off the shelf. 

Miss Abby listened for a repetition of the noise, 
with chattering teeth, but it was not repeated, and 
presently she plucked up courage to seek for the 
cause. She took the broom from its accustomed 
corner, her heart quaking and her knees knocking 
together at the noise made by the accidental slip of 
the broom. She approached the chimney with broom 
extended and limbs trembling, and thrust the stick 
up its capacious throat. It struck nothing, and she 
knew no man was there. Then she resorted to 
strategy, and made as if to walk away toward her 
room. .Her design, a very deep one, was to delude 
the supposed burglar. She walked away a step, and 
then of a sudden dropped on her face on the floor, 
and peered under the sofa. 

Less than the crash in the oven sent Miss Abby 
through this performance, which was an almost 
nightly one with her; but on this occasion she went 
through it with the conviction that at last she had 
found a veritable man in the house. She did not find 
him, however, and with a last prayer for Otis, be- 
took herself to her room. 


136 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


The minutes were long ones to Tim, as he waited 
in his prison, and in his misery he was ready to ac- 
cuse Taggs of a willingness to leave him to his fate. 

He was unjust to the little creature, however. She 
had lain awake, waiting for Sally to show by her 
breathing that she was asleep, and then she had to 
allow sufficient time for Miss Abby to do the same. 
And it had required all the will power of the tired 
child to enable her to remain awake herself. 

She allowed half an hour, perhaps, to elapse be- 
fore she dared to descend. With Sally’s night- 
gown draped around her slight figure, she looked 
less like a New York street waif than ever before 
in her short life. 

She stole down the creaking stairs, holding her 
breath, that she might the better hear any move- 
ment on the part of Sally or Miss Abby. She held 
her candle and some matches in her hands, and 
when she reached the sitting-room she lighted the 
former. 

“Are yer there, Tim?” she whispered through the 
air hole in the oven door. 

“Where else would I be?” demanded Tim, sul- 
lenly. 

“Why don’t yer come out? They’s all gone to 
bed.” 

“Aw, what’s the matter wid yer?” snarled Tim. 
“Stop yer foolin’, an’ let me out, will yer?” 

Taggs tried the door, and discovered that it was 
locked. • 

“It’s locked, Tim,” she whispered. 

“Don’t I know that? So did you.” 

“No, I didn’t, Tim. What shall I do? Oh, what 
shall I do? Where is the key?” 

The tone was too sincere for Tim to doubt, and 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


137 


his own tone softened, as his faith in his little friend 
revived. 

“Look on the table,’’ he said. 

“ ’Tain’t there.” 

“Then^ Miss Abby must have it in her pocket. 
She’s asleep, ain’t she?” 

“Yes, but, oh, Tim! I wouldn’t dare to go inter 
her room.” 

“But yer must, Taggs. I’ll be caught fer sure, if 
I stay here. Anyhow, I can’t hardly breathe. You 
can get the key easy enough. She always puts her 
dress over the chair nearest the door, an’ all you’ll 
have to do is to open the door an’ reach in an’ grab 
it. Go on, Taggs, that’s a good feller.” 

“How d’yer know where she puts her dress? Oh, 
Tim, ye ain’t up to no game, be yer?” 

“How do I know? Never mind that. I ain’t up 
to no game nor nothin’, Taggs. All I wants is to 
get out of this before I suffercate. Go on, an’ get it, 
Taggs.” 

“I’ll git bounced fer this,” sobbed Taggs; “but I 
don’t fergit old times, Tim, an’ I’ll do it. Ye’ll go 
right out, won’t ye, Tim, if I hooks the key fer ye?” 

“Bet yer sweet life I will, Ta^-gs; go on now, an’ 
get it.” 

With her heart in her throat, she stole to the door 
of Miss Abby’s sleeping room, and listened. The 
regular and somewhat noisy breathing of the occu- 
pant reassured her, and she softly opened the door. 

Now that she was in for it, something of her old- 
time recklessness returned to her, and she crept half 
into the room, and took the dress from the chair, 
where it lay, as Tim had said it would. She drew 
it far enough into the room where the light was to 
enable her to see, and took from the pocket the 


138 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


bunch of keys, of which the one she was in search 
of was one. 

She put the gown back in its place, and, in 
another moment, had liberated Tim, who sprang out 
of his prison without any loss of time. 

‘‘Bully for you, Taggs! Yer the right sort, you 
are.” 

“Hurry, now, Tim,” said Taggs, nervously. “Go, 
quick!” 

“Gimme a chance to breathe, won’t yer? An’ to 
git somethin’ feat.” 

“Yer pockets are full, now. I’ll git bounced sure. 
Won’t yer go, Tim?” 

“Pockets full! Why, I eat that all up ! I hadn’t 
had nothin’ fer near two days, Taggs. Yer don’t 
want me to go out on a empty stomach, do yer? Let 
me have a loaf o’that bread.” 

“Go on an’ take it, Tim. An’, I say, Tim, why 
don’t yer go inter the barn an’ sleep to-night?” 

“That’s what I will do, Taggs.” 

“I’ll bring yer out somethin’ feat, in the mornin’.” 

“Will yer, though? Yer the right sort, Taggs. 
I’ll make it up to yer some day, see if I don’t. Lay 
low ! Somebody’s cornin’. It’s Miss Abby. Say ye 
heard a noise. Don’t give me away !” 

Tim crouched behind the table just as the door of 
Miss Abby’s room opened, and she appeared on the 
threshold, holding a candle in her hand, and staring 
with terror at Taggs. 

“Mercy on us! Is that yeou, Taggs?” 

“Yes, ’urn.” 

“Why, Tas'-gs, you gave me such a start! What 
are yeou doin’ down here, Taggs? Why ain’t yeou 
in yeour bed?” 

‘‘Cause— cause— I heard a noise, mum.’^ 



“I CAN’T ENCOURAGE YOU TO HOPE TO FIND THE CHILD, 
SAID THE JUDGE.~(P, 46.) 



140 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


noise, Taggs!’^ and Miss Abby tremblingly 
took the child by the arm. ‘‘A noise, Taggs ! What 
kind of a noise?’’ 

“A— a— noise, mum.” 

“The same kind of noise I heard, Taggs. Oh, 
Taggs ! Where did you hear it, Taggs?” 

Taggs pointed a trembling finger at the floor. 

“There, mum.” 

“Just where I heard it, Taggs. Oh, Taggs! Oh, 
oh! What was that?” 

“It was me, mum. I hit the tin pan.” 

“Don’t hit the tin pan, Taggs; will yeou, Taggs? 
There it goes again !” 

This time it was Tim, who saw that he would 
presently be discovered if something was not done 
to enable him to escape. He had kicked the tin 
pan as Taggs turned, so that she could see where he 
was.' Then, while Miss Abby stood trembling and 
holding the child’s hand, he motioned to Taggs to 
say that the noise came from up stairs. She compre- 
hended at once, and seeing that Miss Abby was 
more frightened than herself, recovered heart and 
presence of mind. 

“The noise was up stairs then. Miss Abby,” she 
said. 

“Up stairs? Oh, Taggs! Whereabouts up stairs?” 

“In Sally’s room, I think, mum.” 

“Oh, dear! oh, dear! Poor Sally! They’ll kill 
her, Taggs. We must go to her, Taggs. Come with 
me, Taggs.” 

And as Tim and Taggs had calculated, her love 
for Sally made her brave to go to her. She caught 
up the poker and after a number of false starts, 
darted up the stairs, followed by Taggs. 

At the same moment Tim darted to the door, un- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


141 


bolted it, and fled out. Taggs was shrewd enough to 
hurry down and close the door after him, so that 
when Miss Abby and the wondering and startled 
Sally came down there was no sign of any one hav- 
ing been there. 

For that night Miss Abby and Sally and Taggs 
slept together. 


CHAPTER XV. 

SOMETHING ABOUT WILLIAM BUNCO. 

Otis reached the station in ample time to buy his 
ticket for Xew York, and to have the train flagged. 
When the train came in he shook Joel feelingly by 
the hand, and had it in his mind to give some direc- 
tions about what should be done in the event of 
something fatal happening to him in the city. 

He had not made up his mind, however, when the 
train thundered in, and so he took his chances with 
fate, and with one more wring of Joel’s hand, 
climbed aboard the last car. He stood on the plat- 
form of the car as the train moved off, and shouted : 

“Do my chores fer me, Joel, will yeou?” 

“All right, Otis.” 

“And, Joel, if I shouldn’t never return, tell 
Miss ” 

But he was out of Joel’s hearing by this time, and 
the message to Miss Abby never reached her, 
though Joel did not fail to tell her that Otis thought 
of her the very last thing before he left for the 
haunts of danger. 

Otis delivered his message to the winds, however, 
and was going on to say a great deal more as he 
clung to the rail, when a brakeman shouted into his 
ear; 


142 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


‘‘He can’t hear you, boss.” 

“No? Wa-al, then there ain’t^ no use o’ me 
a-shoutin’, is there?” 

“No, and you’d better go inside before you’re 
thrown off going round some of these curves. Going 
to Bellows Falls, are you?” 

“No, sir,” shouted Otis, with visible pride. “I’m 
goin’ all the way to New York, I am.” 

“You don’t tell me!” said the brakeman, usher- 
ing him into the car, which had not more than a 
half dozen persons in it. “Going all alone, too?” 

“Ye-as, I be.” 

“First time you ever was there?” 

“Ye-as, but I ain’t afraid.” 

“Well, you have got grit. Going to New York 
all alone for the first time, and ain’t afraid.” 

“No, sir, I ain’t afraid a mite. Brother John is 
there, an’ if he can git along, there ain’t no reason 
why I shouldn’t.” 

“Of course not. So you’ve got a brother John 
there, have you? Oh, well, he’ll meet you at the 
depot, and steer you right.” 

“No, he won’t, nuther. He don’t know I’m 
cornin’. But I ain’t afraid. I’ve been told about 
the feller that’ll come up to me an’ know all about 
me. Bill somebody his name is ; but I’m ready for 
him.” 

The brakeman smiled ; indeed, he laughed. Otis 
liked him for his pleasant way, and laughed with 
him 

“Look here,” said the brakeman, “I’ll tell you what 
you’d better do— send a telegram to your brother 
telling him you’re coming.” 

“By gum! that’s what I oughter done, but I clean 
f ergot it.” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


143 


‘‘ ’Tisn’t too late yet. Write the telegram and 
I’ll see that it is sent.” 

“Can’t do that, can yeou?” 

“Well, I’ll tell you, I’ll do it for you, though I 
wouldn’t for most people.” 

The brakeman laughed very heartily as he said 
this, and Otis laughed with him, though he could 
not see just where the joke was. 

“Yeou’re real kind,” he said, “but I ain’t got no 
paper, an’ I don’t mind sayin’ to yeou, stranger, 
that I never writ a telegram in my life, an’ wouldn’t 
know haow to save me.” 

“Don’t let that trouble you,” said the brake- 
man, heartily, “I’ll get you the paper, and write it 
for you, if you will tell me what to say.” 

“Naow, that’s real kind o’ yeou, stranger,” said 
Otis, gratefully. 

“Don’t mention it. Wait till I come back.” 

The man went forward to the baggage car and 
presently returned with a telegraph blank. Otis 
gave him his brother’s address, and told him the 
circumstances of his journey, and the brakeman 
wrote the telegram, telling Mr. John Tucker that 
his brother Otis was on his way to see him. 

Otis was charmed with the easy way in which the 
man did the thing, and could not be grateful enough 
when he offered to see that it was sent from the first 
place they stopped at. 

“Yeou’re real kind, yeou are,” said Otis. “Haow 
much will it cost? I know it costs a good deal to 
telegraft.” 

“Oh, not much,” answered the man. “Anyhow 
I won’t let it cost you much. Two dollars and 
seventy cents’ll do.” 


144 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


“Thank yeou,” said Otis, pulling out a well-filled 
wallet. 

“Oh, that’s all right; and see here! I’ve taken a 
fancy to you, and I’ll let you have two seats to your- 
self, so you can take a nap, and it won’t cost you 
more than a dollar extra, either.” 

Otis paid the extra dollar with profuse expres- 
sions of gratitude, and the man only asked that he 
would say nothing about his kindness, as it was 
against the rules of the company to grant favors 
without charging more for them. Of course Otis 
promised. 

The brakeman turned over a seat for him, and 
Otis stretched himself out with the luxurious feel- 
ing a man always has when he has obtained some- 
thing for less than his neighbor would have to pay. 

The journey was full of incident to Otis. The 
punching of his ticket by the conductor was no 
small affair, and one that he looked on at first with 
no small amount of suspicion. Only the fact that 
his friend the, brakeman, stood by and saw it done 
made him feel sure that it was all right. Then the 
change of cars at Bellows Falls was an adventure 
to stir his blood, and it was a long time after before 
he could compose himself to sleep again in the new 
cars. 

But when he learned the next morning that he 
was actually to be in New York in a little while, all 
other things were forgotten. He buttoned his coat 
tightly about him, having first put his wallet into 
the innermost pocket of his waistcoat, and then re- 
hearsed all that he would do when the city was 
reached. 

The most important thing was to circumvent 
Bunco Bill, and as well as he could he practiced the 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


145 


very blow he would strike that enterprising but dis- 
honest person, should he attempt to play upon his 
inexperience. 

And very glad he was, when the city was reached, 
that he had prepared in advance, for such a hubbub 
he had never seen before as there was then. He 
found himself hustled, and jammed, and pushed this 
way and that, until by some miracle he was upon 
the pavement of the depot. 

He was considering which way to go, and in the 
meantime looking wildly about him, when a well- 
dressed young man approached him and said, po- 
litely : 

“I think you must be Mr. Otis Tucker, are you 
not?’’ 

“None o’ your darn business,” answered Otis, in- 
dignantly. 

The young man smiled pleasantly. 

“But I came on purpose to meet you. My name 
is ” 

“Goldarn yeou, git away from me. I know what 
yeour name is. I was expectin’ yeou, I was. Git 
away from me !” 

“But, Mr. Tucker,” said the young man, still smil- 
ing, but more urgent than before, “you’re to go with 
me. I came here ” 

“Goldarn yeou, let go o’ me or I’ll hurt ye!” 
cried Otis, threateningly. 

By this time a little circle had formed around the 
two, and the young man began to feel embarrassed. 

“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Tucker,” he 
said, earnestly, endeavoring to put his arm in the 
other’s. 

By this time Otis thought he ought to prove that 
he was not so easily to be made a victim, so he drew 


146 


THE COUNTY FAIB, 


back his arm in the style he had been practicing, 
and without any further warning hit the young man 
between the eyes. 

Then there was a hubbub. The young man fell 
down, but rose instantly, and scrambled into the 
now surging crowd. Some one yelled ‘‘Police!” 
and two depot employees rushed up and tried to take 
hold of Otis ; but the good man had not trained his 
muscles for nothing, and both of them fell before 
him. 

He looked upon the whole assemblage as natural 
enemies, and was ready to hold his own against 
them all, anathematizing them in one breath, and 
beseeching them to come on in the next. 

In the meantime a gigantic policeman at the en- 
trance to the depot had seen the commotion and 
heard the cries, and had hurried to the spot. He 
made a way for himself through the crowd and con- 
fronted the excited ones. 

“Here, here! What’s the matter?” said the giant. 

But the slow blood of Otis was up now, and he 
was on the war-path. 

“What’s the matter? Goldarn ye! Come on, 
an’ I’ll show ye what’s the matter!” 

The giant smiled, advanced a step, and before 
Otis was well aware of what had happened, he was 
being marched up the depot at the length of the 
policeman’s arm. He struggled and said many 
things not taught in church, but he was powerless, 
and was finally taken to the station-house, where 
the sight of an array of brass buttons served to re- 
call him to a sense of his feebleness when in the 
grip of the law. 

The giant told the police captain what he knew of 
the matter, and then the captain, seeming to under- 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


147 


stand the position of Otis at a glance, asked him to 
tell his story. 

It was a confused and somewhat incoherent story, 
and caused more than one explosion of mirth, but 
the captain nodded his head reassuringly at Otis, 
and asked him if the young man had been appre- 
hended. 

No, the young man had not been taken in charge, 
but he was there, and presented himself and his 
swollen eyes before the police captain. 

“That^s him, goldarn his skin!’’ said Otis, indig- 
nantly. 

The young man backed out of his reach and spoke 
up. 

‘T am one of the clerks in his brother’s office in 
Exchange place, and I was sent to meet him. He 
wouldn’t listen to me, but hit me in the face.” 

“Great Jehoshaphat, jedge!” exclaimed Otis, 
“haow that critter kin lie. Haow did John know I 
was cornin’?” 

“Why, he received a telegram from you, you old 
fool,” answered the young man, angrily. 

“Did you send a telegram?” asked the captain. 

“Wa-al, I swow, if I didn’t!” said Otis, with a 
sudden sheepishness. 

The captain hid a smile behind his hand, and 
said: 

“I guess it’s all a mistake, Mr. Tucker, and you 
owe the young gentleman an apology for your hasti- 
ness.” 

With this Otis was dismissed, and he and the 
young man, the latter keeping a respectful distance 
from him, walked out together. 


148 


TEE COUNTY FAIE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A waif’s loyalty. 

When Tim ran from the house he had no difficulty 
in finding the barn, for he had been from the one to 
the other too often not to know every inch of the 
way. He knew, too, every nook and corner of the 
barn, and was speedily ensconced in a snug hole in 
the hay, feeling more warm and comfortable than 
he had for many a day past. 

But as he lay there, he could not help contrasting 
his present with the past, and what he had sacri- 
ficed. Instead of being hungry, ragged, and weary, 
he might at that very moment have been in a clean, 
warm bed in the house, with the prospect of a warm, 
hearty breakfast in the morning. 

Perhaps he would have made up his mind to go to 
Miss Abby and throw himself on her mercy, had it 
not been for the fact that he had written to his sis- 
ter and had not received a reply. 

He could not think there might be some accident 
to blame for that. In his miserable condition it was 
easier to be morbid than to be reasonable, and he 
had the notion that his sister had in some way dis- 
covered that he had been in jail, and was ashamed 
of him. 

Poor lad ! Could he only have known it, that sis- 
terly heart was yearning for him almost every hour 
of the day. But he did not know it, and could not 
imagine it. The world seemed arrayed against him. 
Taggs, only little Taggs, was his friend, and the 
lonely, wretched boy blessed her for her kindness to 
him. 


THE COUNTY FAIE. 


149 


He fell asleep after a time, and slept so soundly 
that he did not hear J oel when he returned from 
the cars and put the horse away. 

He kept himself carefully hidden in the morning, 
listening to the voices of Joel and Sally as they ex- 
changed words of love, and wondering when Taggs 
would come to him and what she would bring. 

During the breakfast-time, when he knew every- 
body would be in the house, he descended from the 
mow and crept into the stable, attracted there by 
his love of horses. 

There was the old horse he had cleaned, and rid- 
den, and been friends with in the old happy days, 
and it seemed to him, with a thrill of happiness, 
that the animal knew him, and whinnied a wel- 
come. He patted him, whispered to him, and 
stroked his nose, as he had done in the old days 
and the horse showed unmistakable signs of pleas- 
ure, which Tim, at least, would not doubt meant 
recognition. Then, to Tim’s wonder, there was a 
new horse, a colt. Tim went into his stall, and soon 
made friends with him, as he always could with 
horses. A handsome creature the colt was, with a 
kind, courageous eye, a clean, hard leg, and a deep 
barrel. 

Tim studied the pretty creature with a critical 
eye, summing up its good points, and finally ex- 
claiming : 

‘TTl bet you’re a goer! I’d like to put my leg 
over yer, an’ try yer.” 

That was out of the question, but at least he could 
talk to the colt, and stroke him, and make a friend 
of him, and he did, to the very evident jealousy of 
the older horse. 

It made Tim feel better to be among the horses, 


150 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


and he was able to wait more patiently until Taggs 
came, though it did seem as if she would never have 
the opportunity ; for being such cold weather, there 
tvas nothing to do in the fields, and so Joel returned 
to the barn soon after breakfast, and spent some 
time there, cleaning the horses and doing other 
stable-work. 

But by and by he found work to do that would 
keep him at or near the house — which meant Sally 
to him — and he left the barn again. Then Tim 
waited and watched for Taggs, and she did not dis- 
appoint him. She came stealing into the barn, and 
called : 

“Tim! I say, Tim, where are yer?” 

Tim put his head over the side of the mow. 

“Here I am. Got anything fer me?’' 

“Some coffee in a bottle, with dead loads o’ cream 
an’ sugar in it. I say, Tim, d’ye mind that time yer 
give me that cup o’ coffee? That didn’t taste good 
nor nothin’ ! — oh, no ! An’ here’s some hot biscuit — 
or they was hot ; an’ I hooked a hunk o’ meat fer 
yer. That’s all I could git, Tim.” 

“Yer a brick, Taggs!” 

He slid down from the mow, took the things from 
Taggs, and climbed back again. 

“Now, you stand in the door, an’ look out, Taggs, 
while I eat.” 

He ate, and Taggs stood at the open door, and 
watched for him. 

“What yer goin’ ter do, Tim?” she asked, after a 
short silence. 

“I don’t know. What kin I do? There ain’t no 
work doin’ now.” 

“Ye won’t steal anythin’ here, will yer, Tim?” 

“Look a here, Taggs, I want you to shut up on 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


151 


that. I never stole nothin’, an’ I ain’ t a-goin’ ter 
now. Yer jest like all the rest — yer think ’cause I 
was jugged I can’t do nothin’ but steal. That’s jest 
the way ter make a thief of a feller. I want ter 
work, I do, Taggs; but nobody ain’t got no work ter 
do now, so what’s the use? If I could only git along 
fer a few weeks, till spring opened, I could git a 
job.” 

Taggs knew what he meant, and for a moment 
there was a struggle between the natural selfishness 
of the human heart and her gratitude. And Tim 
waited without eating until she would answer, for 
he knew that his fate was being decided. 

“I’ll do what I kin fer yer, Tim; but I don’t know 
about it,” she said, at last. “Yer see, the old gal is 
pooty fly about the vittles. She lets me have all I 
want, but she knows what’s cooked. Besides, that 
feller’ll be sure to And yer here.” 

“Don’t fret yer gizzard ’bout that, Taggs. You 
fetch me the grub, an’ I’ll ’tend to the rest. I won’t 
git you in no trouble neither, Taggs. I ain’t that 
kind of a hair-pin, and don’t yer ferget it. Taggs, 
yer like the gal they call Sally?” 

“Well, yer bet yer sweet life I do. She’s a daisy, 
she is. Somebody’s a-comin’, Tim. Lay low!” 

She ran away, and Tim took to his hiding-place. 
And so it went on, day after day. Very often Tim 
was almost stepped on by Joel, when the latter 
climbed up into the mow to throw down hay for the 
horses, and once or twice Tim was almost caught 
as he was in the stalls with the horses, who in a 
very little while learned to know and love the lad a 
great deal better than they did Joel. 

As for Taggs, it never ceased to be a marvel to 
Miss Abby that the child could eat so much ; but she 


152 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


never suspected the truth, nor did Sally. Miss Abby 
said, and Sally agreed with her : 

“I s’pose she’s been starved so long it takes her 
an’ everlastin’ time to git filled up ; but, my stars ! I 
never did see a young one could put away such an 
amount of vittles as she can.” 

Tim was grateful for all Taggs did for him, but 
even he could not know what a trial it was to the 
child to have to deceive the friends who were so kind 
to her. She had never even dreamed of such a 
home before, and each time that she appropriated 
food for Tim her heart smote her ; for she was cer- 
tain that if found out she would be sent back to the 
hateful Mission. 

Perhaps she was more attentive in other things 
for that reason than she would otherwise have been. 
She certainly won the hearts of both the women, 
and of Joel, too, for that matter, though he would 
have been sure to like where Sally liked. 

It was not very long in fact, though it seemed so 
to Taggs, before the warmer weather set in and 
spring came. Then Tim, as glad to be free to go as 
Taggs to have him, said good-by to her, and one 
morning early left the barn and set out in search of 
work. 

It was still a little early for that, and he was not 
as big nor as robust as a boy should be to command 
a place readily. It was in vain for him to protest 
that he asked little pay, and was more able to do a 
good day’s work than many a larger person. 

He fancied that everybody looked askance at him, 
as if able to detect the prison in the very atmos- 
phere about him. Perhaps it was that his fears 
gave him an air which repulsed almost everybody. 

The old life, which had begun after the relief 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


153 


from prison, began again. It was wandering and 
semi-starvation all the time, and the hungrier and 
more weary he became the less would anybody trust 
him or give him work. 

He became a suspicious character at last, and one 
farmer would warn another to be on the look-out 
for him. It seemed to Tim that the time was fast 
coming when there would be nothing between him 
and death but crime. If no one would let him 
work, if he would not be permitted to earn an hon- 
est living, then he must steal or die. 

It did not come to that, however, for when in his 
desperate young heart he was meditating some 
offense which would put him in prison and save his 
life, he was arrested on suspicion of being concerned 
in some robbery of which he knew nothing, and for 
several days he was fed and lodged at the public ex- 
pense. 

Then he was taken before the county court, and 
would have been remanded for trial but for one of 
those accidents which proved him to have been guilt- 
less. He was turned loose again, but warned that 
he was a suspicious character, and that he had bet- 
ter go to some other part of the country. 

Poor Tim was as utterly wretched and miserable 
as a boy well could be, and everything looked so 
dark before him that he broke a promise he had 
made himself, never to apply to Miss Abby for help, 
and made up his mind to go to her. Hot to go to 
her as himself, but to offer himself as an applicant 
for work, trying to obtain it through the co-opera- 
tion of Taggs. 

Some weeks had elapsed since he had left the 
farm, and all his wanderings had been at some dis- 


154 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


tance from there, so that he hoped that nothing 
would turn up to hurt his chances of success. 

And now that he had made up his mind to go to 
the old farm, the longing to be there was so great 
that he was almost sick. He felt that if he could 
only be under the same roof again with Sally and 
Miss Abby, he would be able to endure anything. 

The moment he had made up his mind he started 
for the farm. It was a long distance to go, but he 
felt that he would not be able to rest until he had 
covered it. And so we leave him trudging over the 
rough and muddy roads, a new hope springing up 
in his heart, and by its side an aching dread that he 
might apply in vain. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TAGGS INTRODUCES MR. TANNER. 

The soft, balmy days of spring had come around 
again, the days when the air was filled with the odor 
of fruit blossoms, and when the eye began to find 
delight in every object it fell upon. 

Miss Abby had already begun to think of house- 
cleaning, Sally had her mind full of the walks she 
and Joel might now take together, and Taggs had 
only begun to know what life in the country meant. 

The house was like a prison to her now, and she 
spent every moment she could in the fresh air, de- 
lighting with all her animal nature in the joys of 
awakening life. 

She was thoroughly at home now, and felt as if 
she was a fixture there. Xo one ever hinted any- 
thing else, for all had come to love her as one of 
their own. She was a torment to everybody, so full 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


155 


of mischief was she, but a comfort, too, for her 
grateful heart could not hold enough love for her 
benefactors. 

All the thin lines were gone from her face, and the 
sullen look from her eyes. She was as round and 
plump as a partridge, and not only her eyes, but 
her every feature, and every action, bespoke her 
happiness. 

She was a useful little body, as every one must 
be who lived in Miss Abby‘s house, but she found it 
hard these delightful spring days to finish her work, 
and often left it partly done while she ran out in the 
fields or among the fruit trees until she was tired. 

This morning she was hastening with her bed- 
making, that she might get out into the field where 
Joel vras plowing, for there was a fascination to the 
child in watching the mellow earth roll off the mold 
board. 

She was plumping a pillow with her little hands, 
when she espied one of the neighbors’ little children 
coming toward the house. Without a moment of 
hesitation she ran to the window, and whirled the 
pillow at the boy’s head. It knocked his hat off. 
He laughed and threw the pillow back. It fell short, 
and landed on the front steps just as Miss Abby 
opened the door. 

The boy darted out of sight ; Taggs leaned out to 
see what was the matter, and caught sight of Miss 
Abby just as that good woman was making frantic 
efforts to keep her feet after having stumbled over 
the pillow that lay on the steps. 

‘Taggs!” cried Miss Abby, for instinct taught her 
that Taggs was in some way to blame ; but Taggs 
had fled down stairs, and out at the kitchen door, 
carrying with her a hot pumpkin pie as she went. 


156 


THE COUNTY FAIB, 


Miss Abby looked up at the window over the door, 
but saw nothing there, and, after calling several 
times again for Taggs, gave it up, and walked out 
toward the barn to speak to Sally. 

This was unfortunate for Taggs, who had ex- 
pected her to call and then go back into the house. 
Therefore she was caught with the half of the pie at 
her mouth and the other half behind her back. 

“My land, Taggs! what air yeou eatin’?” 

“Pie,’’ answered Taggs, with difficulty, because 
of pie, her mouth being full of it. 

“Per the land’s sake! why don’t yeou eat all yeou 
want at the table, an’ not be fer everlastin’ eatin’ 
’tween meals. ” 

“I do, an’ then I get hungry afterward,” said 
Taggs. 

“Wa-al, my stars! it seems to me I can’t keep no 
pie in the house nowadays. Go in an’ finish them 
beds. What’s this piller doin’ aout here?” 

“It must ’a slipped out o’ my hand. Miss Abby.” 

“Likely,” said Miss Abby, knowing something of 
Taggs’ ways, and she went on to the barn. 

There she found J oel, who was supposed to be out 
in the field plowing, and Sally, who was supposed 
to be attending to the chickens.” 

“Fer the land’s sake!” said Miss Abby, indig- 
nantly. 

“I just came in for a wrench to tighten some o’ 
the nuts on the plow,” said Joel, snatching up the 
wrench and bolting out of the door. 

“I was helpin’ him find it. Miss Abby,” said Sally. 

“Wa-al, my stars an’ garters! if it’s goin’ to take 

the two o’ yeou to find Upon my word! ’’and 

she stalked indignantly back to the house, and 
found solace in mixing some doughnuts. 


THE COUNTY FAIN. 


157 


Taggs, having finished her beds, ran out, and 
began filling the water-bucket with stones at the 
spring, intending to enjoy a little joke of her own 
thereby. Some one touched her on the shoulder. 

She turned with a ready excuse : 

“I was just trying to see Why, Tim, is that 

you?” 

“Yes, it’s me. I don’t suppose yer glad to see me. 
I didn’t expect it.” 

He looked so wretched, and spoke so dismally 
that her heart was touched. She was not glad to see 
him, for she dreaded lest she should lose her happy 
home through him ; but gratitude was one of her 
virtues, and pity for the unfortunate one of her at- 
tributes. 

“Down on yer luck, Tim?” she asked, gently. 

“Yes, I am, Taggs, an’ got a right ter be. I can’t 
git no work, an’ I’m starvin’. An’ why? Cause 
I’ve been to jail, an’ nobody won’t trust me. Taggs, 
I know it’s rubbin’ it in, but what can a feller do? I 
ain’t got no friend but you, an’ so I comes to you an’ 
I says, ‘Taggs, help me, will yer?’ ” 

“Tim,” said Taggs, with tears standing in her 
eyes, “I will help yer. I ain’t forgot, nor am I goin’ 
ter. What d’yer want me ter do?” 

“I want ter work here at Miss Abby’s.” 

“It’s a square deal, is it, Tim? She’s a funny old 
jay, but she’s been good ter me, an’ I love her. 
’Tain’t no job, is it, Tim?” 

“That’s it,” said Tim, bitterly. “Even a feller’s 
friends go back on him.” 

“I ain’t goin’ back on yer, Tim.” 

“Yer have ter keep talkin’ as if I was a thief all 
the time. Didn’t I tell yer I never stole no boss? 
Can’t yer believe a feller? Say, Taggs, help me git 


158 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


a job, an’, so help me. I’ll work like a mule. You 
can say a good word fer me, can’t yer?” 

“I don’t know as my word’s wuth much, Tim, but 
I’ll give it, see if I don’t. She wants a man, an’ I’ll 
tell her while Joel’s out in the field. You git over 
here behind that tree, and wait till I give you the 
office. I’ll give her a lingo, and git the whole busi- 
ness dead to rights before I call yer.” 

“Yer won’t give me away, will yer, Taggs?” 

“What would I give yer away for? Just you 
leave it to me. I’m fiy, I tell yer. You git till ! give 
yer the tip to come.” 

Tim did as he was bidden, and Taggs ran to the 
door, and bawled out : 

“Miss Abby, Miss Abby ! here’s a gent as wants to 
see yer.” 

“A what, Taggs?” 

“A gentleman.” 

“Can’t he wait a few minutes? My hands are in 
the dough.” 

“No, he says he can’t wait.” 

“Fer the land’s sake! I wonder who it can be !” 
murmured Miss Abby, as she walked out of the 
house, and looked around to see the gentleman. 
“Where is he, Taggs?” 

“He’s just stepped over there. Shall I call him?” 

“Who is he, Taggs?” 

“Oh, he’s a friend o’ mine,” answered Taggs, in 
an off-hand way. 

“Oh, he’s a friend of yeours, is he, Taggs? What’s 
his name?” 

“His name? Oh — er — his name is Tim. ” 

“Taggs, do yeou mean Timothy? How many 
times must I speak to yeou abaout nicknamin’ folks? 
Timothy what?” 


TBE COUNTY FAIH. 


159 


“Tim — Timothy Tanner, ma’am.’’ 

“And what does he want, Taggs?” 

“He’s lookin’ for work. Miss Abby, an ’ I told him 
to come right here, fer you wanted somebody. 
You’ll like him. Miss Abby.” 

“Oh, will I? Where does he come from?” 

“From prison,” said Taggs, involuntarily, and 
then shuddered to think what she had said. 

“From prison?” repeated Miss Abby. 

“ No — ye — yes, ma’am,” corrected Taggs, with a 
sudden inspiration. “Yer see, he — he had a class 
there.” 

“Oh, he had a class there? He must be a good 
man, Taggs!” 

“Good!” repeated Taggs. “You know what a 
good man our minister is?” 

“Yes, Taggs, he is a good man— a dear, good 
man!” 

“Well, he can’t touch Mr. Tanner.” 

“Can’t touch him, Taggs? Why, what’s the mat- 
ter with him?” 

“Matter with him? — matter with who?” 

“The matter with Mr. Tanner, that the minister 
mustn’t touch him?” 

“Oh-h! There ain’t nothin’ the matter with him 
— only he’s so good.” 

“Oh!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” went on Taggs, very much pleased 
with her facility for romancing, and willing to try 
her powers further. “Do you know that he gives a 
dinner to all the newsboys in Ne^v York on Christ- 
mas an’ Thanksgivin’.” 

“Wa-al, he must be a good man, Taggs. I’d like 
to meet him. But, Taggs, I’m afraid I could never 


160 


THE COUNTY FAIB, 


pay him enough. A man who gives away so many 
turkeys must have a big farm of his own.’’ 

“He don’t want much wages/’ said Taggs, with 
an air of scorn for money in the same connection 
with Mr. Tanner. “He’s out here fer his health.” 

“Oh! But where is he, Taggs?” 

“I’ll call him.” She put her hand to her mouth, 
and shouted, “Hello-o-o, Tim!” 

“My stars! What will Mr. Tanner think of us! 
Taggs, haven’t yeou no better manners than to call 
the gentleman that way? Dear me !” 

She turned her back, and suddenly became con- 
scious of her hands being covered with dough, and 
tried to hide them under her apron. 

Tim approached, without any hesitation, but with 
no little trepidation. He had no fear of being recog- 
nized, but he dreaded the failure of Taggs’ efforts in 
his behalf. 

“This is the gentleman,” said Taggs, with a sly 
wink at Tim, who did not respond, however, for 
Sally stood in the door-way. “This is Mr. Tanner.” 

Miss Abby turned, with an embarrassed smile, 
thinking of her hands; but at the sight of the 
ragged, boyish-looking lad, the smile changed to a 
look of surprise. However, she bowed, and stam- 
mered: 

“And my name is ” 

“Abby,” interjected Taggs, glibly. 

“Miss Abigail Prue!” corrected Sally, indignantly. 

Tim bowed low to Miss Abby, and then to Sally. 
Miss Abby, seeing him bow to Sally, introduced him 
to her, and he took her outstretched hand. The 
touch of her hand seemed to unman him, and he 
looked up into her face with such a pleading look 
that she was startled, though she suspected nothing. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


161 


‘^Taggs has told me all abaout yeou, Mr. Tanner,” 
said Miss Abby. 

‘T wonder what she has told her?” muttered Tim, 
suspiciously. 

“She has told me all abaout how yeou left the 
prison ” 

“The what?” cried Tim, with a savage glance at 
Taggs, and springing a step toward Miss Abby. 

“Mercy! How impulsive he is I ” murmured Miss 
Abby, starting back from him. “She has told me 
all abaout yeour class there.” 

“My what?” 

“Yeour class— yeour Sunday-school class.” 

“Oh-h, ye-es.” 

“It must ’a been hard to leave it, Mr. Tanner.” 

“Oh, dreadful hard,” said Tim, entering into the 
spirit of the deception, “but I had to do it though it 
tore my heart.” 

“Ye-as, to be sure! Did you have many in yeour 
class, Mr. Tanner?” 

“Well,” said Tim, dubiously, “it was larger and 
smaller at different times.” 

“Ye-as, ye-as,” said Miss Abby, “I have noticed 
that in my class. Abaout Christmas or picnic times 
it is always larger than at other times. Ye-as, I 
have noticed it. Taggs tells me, Mr. Tanner, that 
yeou would like to work on the farm.” 

“Yes, ma^am, and I’ll work hard to please you if 
ye’ll try me.” 

“Well, I’m wanting a man, an’ I guess we might 
try it together. I’ll call Joel,” and she took up a 
big horn, and blew a blast on it, just as Joel came 
around the corner of the house. “Fer the land’s 
sake! what air yeuu doin’ here? Me a blowin’ my 


162 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


lungs out thinkin’ yeou was out in the field, an’ yeou 
here all the time.” 

“I came in to see abaout the oats fer seed.” 

“Humph!” ejaculated Miss Abby. “Wa-al, now 
yeou're here, here’s Mr. Tanner; I’ve hired him to 
help yeou. He’s come aout here fer his health.” 

‘T’m afraid,” said Joel, rather suspiciously, as he 
glanced at Tim’s rags, “that there ain’t no work 
araound here fer a sick man to do.” 

“Oh, I ain’t sick,” said Tim, quickly. “I can do 
as good a day’s work as the next one. I only ask it 
to do. Try me an’ see.” 

The tone and manner pleased Joel, and he held 
out his hand, saying, heartily: 

“Then come along, and let’s see what’s to be done. 
I can accommodate yeou with work.” 

“That’s what I want,” said Tim, and they went 
off together. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL. 

Miss Ahby looked after Tim with a thoughtful ex- 
pression. 

“My stars!” she said presently to Taggs, “yeou 
wouldn’t think to look at him that he was such a 
good man, would yeou?” 

“No, ma’am,” answered Taggs, “but that’s his 
way.” 

“Oh, it’s his way, is it? There! I forgot to ask 
him if he’d met Otis in the city.” 

“Oh, he wouldn’t ’a seen him. Miss Abby. New 
York’s too big fer that.” 

“Wa-al, he’s been gone a long time, an’ I’m get- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


163 


tin’ anxious ’baout him. Only writ once sence he 
went.” 

“Don’t you fret yer gizzard about him, Miss Abby. 
I’ll bet he’s havin’ jest a daisy old time.” 

“Fret my gizzard, Taggs! Don’t yeou know I 
ain’t got no gizzard? I’m sure I don’t know what 
kind of a time he’s a-havin’. The letter he writ said 
he was on the go all the time.” 

“You bet he’s on the go!” 

“And it said he’d been to the Met. Opera-House.” 

“Been to the Metropolitan, eh? In the front row 
with all the baldys, you bet, takin’ in the fairies.” 

“The fairies, Taggs! There ain’t no sich things 
as fairies.” 

“Oh, ain’t there, though? Well you jest bet there 
is — in the ballet. Don’t you know the fairies? Bet 
yer life I do. Been in the gallery lots o’ times. Fair- 
ies? Dress waists cut down to here, an’ skirts cut 
off to here,” and Taggs, by an expressive gesture, 
indicated the shortness of the skirts and the lowness 
of the necks of the fairy gowns. 

“Taggs !” said Miss Abby, in a tone of horrified in- 
credulity, “yeou’re tellin’ me a story. I’ll write to 
the Mission abaout yeou this very day.” 

“I ain’t tollin’ you no story. Miss Abby. I’ve seen 
’em lots o’ times.” 

“Dresses like — oh, Taggs!” 

“Why, of course. That’s what the bald-heads go 
to see.” 

“What do the fairies do, Taggs?” 

“What do they do? Give me room an’ I’ll show 
yer;” and then, before the astonished eyes of Miss 
Abby, Taggs began to pirouette and fling her heels 
about in a very good imitation of the ballet-dancer, 


164 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


ending with a kick that did more credit to her agility 
than to her modesty. 

Miss Abby looked on with horror and indignation. 
If Taggs had not actually done the thing, she would 
not have believed ! But in the face of such evidence 
how could she doubt? 

“D’yeou think Otis saw anything like that?” she 
asked. 

‘‘Why, of course he did. What else would he go 
to the Metropolitan fer?” 

“That’s what folks go to the Met. Opera-House 
fer, is it, Taggs?” 

“Why, of course.” 

Miss Abby pursed her lips, and settled her gown. 

“Very well. I’ll have something to say to Otis 
Tucker when he comes home — if he ever does. My 
land! I wouldn’t ’a b’lieved sich things could go 
on in a Christian land. It beats all ! Taggs, git my 
scissors, so I can trim this honeysuckle.” 

While Taggs was gone she placed a ladder against 
the side of the house, and mounted it. Taggs re- 
turned with the scissors, and then, prompted by the 
spirit of mischief, which had had a holiday long 
enough, she uttered a sudden yell. 

“Fer the land’s sake, what’s the matter?” cried 
Miss Abby. 

“A snake!” yelled Taggs, pointing to the flower- 
bed in the border, and at once taking to her heels. 

“A snake!” shrieked Miss Abby, who had the 
horror natural to her sex for the serpent tribe, and 
who at once lost all presence of mind, and did the 
thing of all others which she should not have done 
—lost her footing, aiid straddled the rungs of the 
ladder, carrying it with her to the ground. 

The fall was not high, and it would have mattered 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


165 


very little had not Miss Abby, with some singular 
notion of thereby protecting herself, kept a firm hold 
of the sides of the ladder, thus lifting her gown to 
an unseemly height, and so exposing an alarming 
length of limb to the curious gaze of any spectator. 

And there was a spectator — a man, who stood with 
gaping eyes and open mouth, rooted to the spot he 
stood upon, and quite speechless. 

Miss Abby did not see him* at first, and performed 
some singular evolutions in her efforts to keep a hold 
on the ladder and at the same time to catch a sight 
of the suppositive snake; but presently, as she 
turned about, she saw the outline of a man’s figure, 
whereupon she screamed and dropped the ladder ; 
for of course it was better that a snake should 
bite her than that a man should see her thus. 

‘‘Good land!” she muttered, turning hot and cold 
by turns. “I wonder if he seen me 1 Ahem! Good 
morning, sir. Can I ” 

“Haow d’ye do. Miss Abby!” broke in a familiar 
voice with a familiar drawl. 

“Otis Tucker!” cried Miss Abby, and her confu- 
sion was turned at once into indignation. “So 
yeou’re hum at last, be yeou?” 

“Ye-as, Miss Abby, an’ glad to be hum, too.” 

“Wa-al, yeou’d oughter be. Yeour farm all goin’ 
to ruin, an’ — but what d’yeou care?” 

“I did stay quite a spell, didn’t I?” 

“Quite a spell? I should think you did. Yeou 
must ’a been havin’ a good time, I should say.” 

“Wa-al, so I did. Miss Abby. I seen a good many 
curious things. Miss Abby, I did, an’ might a seen 
more if I’d stayed.” 

“Seen some cur’ous things, did yeou?” exclaimed 
Miss Abby, her mind reverting hotly to what Taggs 


166 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


had told her. ‘‘Went to the Met. Opera-House, 
didn’t yeou?” 

“Ye-as, I did, Miss Abby.” 

Then a fine look of scorn and indignation settled 
on the spinster’s face, and the impulse to show the 
wretched man that his shame was known to her 
overcame her, and, with the impetuosity of her 
nature, she gathered up her skirts, and performed, 
as nearly as she could, the dance Taggs had exe- 
cuted for her. 

It had a wild and weird effect in her interpretation 
that it had lacked with Taggs, and the effect on 
Otis was striking. 

He retreated before Miss Abby’s leaps and gyra- 
tions until he backed into a bench, where he sat, with 
a sort of terror on him, until she attempted to per- 
form the final kick, with which Taggs had wound 
up her effort. - Then he covered his face with his 
hands, and groaned. 

“Did yeou see anything like that at the Met. Opera 
House?” demanded she, breathlessly. 

“No, I didn’t,” said Otis, emphatically, “an’, 
what’s more, I don’t believe anybody else ever did.” 

“What! Didn’t yeou go to see the fairies, Otis 
Tucker?” 

“No, I didn’t. I went to a conference of Methodist 
ministers, I did, an’ they didn’t do nothin’ like 
that.” 

His manner and his tone carried conviction with 
them, and Miss Abby could have sunk through the 
ground with shame, as she recalled her exhibition, 
which would have been justifiable enough with Otis 
guilty, but was awful with him innocent. 

“It’s all Taggs’ doin’s,” she faltered. “She said 
that’s what yeou seen there.” 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


167 


Otis then remembered a grievance of his own 
against Taggs. 

“She got me in an awful scrape, Miss Abby. Yeou 
know what she said ’baout Bunco Bill?’^ 

“Ye-as.’^ 

“Wa-al, I done jest what she told me, an’ when a 
man came up to me an’ asked me to go with him 
cause he knew all ’baout me, 1 hauled off an’ knocked 
him daown. Then two more men came, an’ I knocked 
them daown, too ; but then a big policeman grabbed 
me, an’ I was took up. The man was one o’ brother 
John’s clerks.” 

Taggs was a fair topic for an indignant conversa- 
tion, in the midst of which Miss Abby forgot her 
embarrassment, and was soon forgetting everything 
else in her interest in the things Otis had seen. 

And presently, Sally came out and welcomed Otis 
heartily, for he was a favorite with her, as with 
most others, and the conversation became general, 
and finally took a turn that enabled Otis to blush- 
ingly declare that he had bought a few things for 
presents for them. 

Of course they were anxious to see them at once, 
and so he took up the carpet-bag Miss Abby had let 
him have, and brought forth first a girdle for Sally, 
made in imitation of oxidized silver. 

Miss Abby put it about Sally’s neck, admonishing 
her not to wear it except on Sundays, and saying to 
Otis, in mild chiding of his extravagance : 

“'Don’t tell me that didn’t cost a dollar.” 

“No, it didn’t, neither. It only cost ninety-nine 
cents,” cried Otis. 

The next thing was more embarrassing to Otis, 
and he drew it forth with some hesitation. It was a 
green Alpine hat, trimmed with great red and blue 


168 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


feathers. He handed it with a blush to Miss Abby. 
She turned it over and over, as if doubting its use. 

“Not fer me?’’ she said. 

“Ye-as, fer yeou.” 

“A little gay fer me, ain’t it?” she asked, with a 
conscious toss of the head. 

“Not at all,” declared Sally. “Put it on.” 

She put it on, and paraded up and down, as the 
best and most sensible women will do, before she 
took it off again. It was plain that she was de- 
lighted. 

“What kind o’ feathers are these, Otis?” she 
asked. 

“Wa-al,” said Otis, “I asked the man, and he said 
they were the tail feathers of the lulu bird.” 

“I never heard of the lulu bird,” said Miss Abby; 
“ but I s’pose it’s one o’ them foreign birds. Are 
yeou sure they’re not too gay for me, Otis?” 

“No-o,” replied Otis, and both blushed and looked 
conscious. “I guess,” said he, “I’ll go in an’ lay 
daown fer a bit. Miss Abby.” 

“Do,” said she. “Yeou must be tired. I’ll call 
yeou fer dinner.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. 

A happier boy than Tim was that morning it 
would have been difficult to find. He went about 
the work laid out for him by Joel with a cheery 
whistle that woke the echoes of the farm as they 
had not been wakened since little Tom had left it sd 
many years ago. 

Partly by good luck and partly by management 


THE COUNTY EAIH. 


169 


he had prevailed upon Joel to give him the horses to 
look after, and Joel had felt at once that the ani- 
mals were in good hands. 

Tim busied himself about the stable, going around 
it, and finding the tools and feed with a readiness 
that surprised Joel, who had remained there to help 
him if necessary. But after a while Joel left for the' 
field again, and Tim was alone to indulge his happi- 
ness in his own way — which was by putting his arms 
around the neck of the colt and whispering in his 
ear all that he felt. 

As it neared noon he took the stable bucket and 
ran to the spring near the house to fill it. There he 
met a shambling, uncouth specimen of manhood, 
who stared so hard at him that in his high spirits he 
puffed at him as if to blow him over, a familiar trick 
of the street boy, but discomposing to the Vermont 
farmer, who looked at him with no kindly eye. 

‘‘Who is that?” he said, sharply, to Miss Abby, 
who had just come out of the house after seeing that 
Otis was comfortable. 

“Good land! Who’s who? How yeou do come 
down on a body, Solon Hammerhead!” 

“Who’s that with that pail?” 

“That,” said Miss Abby, with some pride, “is 
Mr. Tanner, a new hand I’ve hired.” 

“Where does he come from?” 

“Where does he — my stars, Solon Hammerhead ! 
can’t I engage a simple farm-hand without yeou a— 
what business is it o’ yeourn, anyhow?” 

“Oh, none, none,” said Solon, in that provoking 
way which seemed to indicate that he had been wil- 
ling to do a great deal for her, but would not inter- 
fere if she was going to take it so much amiss. “If 


170 


THE COUHTTEAIB. 


yeou want to be robbed and yeour house set afire, 
’tain’t none o’ my business. Good-mornin’.” 

‘ ‘Good-mornin’. ” 

She wanted to let him go, but as he very well 
knew, she was a woman, and could not let the mat- 
ter rest where it was, so he was not at all surprised 
when she called out, in a more friendly tone : 

‘‘What’s yeour hurry, Solon? Why don’t yeou be 
neighborly, and have a drop o’ buttermilk?” 

“Don’t mind if I do. Miss Abby,” and he turned 
back. 

“What was that yeou was a-sayin’?” demanded 
Miss Abby. 

“Where did you git that new hand?” 

“Where did I git him? Why, what a question 
to ask ! He came here.” 

“Where from?” 

“Where from? Good land! Why, he come from 
a big farm in New York.” 

“Any recommendations?” 

“Fer the land’s sake, Solon Hammerhead ! do yeou 
think I’d take a man without? Of course he came 
well recommended.” 

“Who recommended him?” 

“Who? Why, Taggs did.” 

“Taggs? Who recommended Taggs?” 

“What a question! Who recommended Taggs? 
Why, the Mission, of course. And Taggs knew him 
well in the city. He was a sort of a— of a lay- 
brother, or missionary. And sp good ! Why, Taggs 
had a great deal of difficulty in telling me how good 
he really was.” 

“Ya-as,” snarled Solon, incredulously. 

“Why, he gave a turkey to every newsboy in New 
York every holiday.” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


171 


‘‘Bosh ! That’s what it is, Miss Abby. Why, don’t 
yeou see how it is? That feller is a thief, an’ he’s 
here to rob yeou. I see through it all. He wrote 
Taggs’ letter, an’ then she recommends him, and 
some mornin’ yeou’ll wake up an’ find yeourself 
robbed. That feller’s a thief! I saw him in the 
caounty jail only a few days ago. Yeou mark my 
words, he’s a thief!” 

“Oh, Solon! do yeou think so?” 

“I know it, an’ I’m goin’ to git my handcuffs 
naow.” 

“But Taggs ” 

“Taggs! She’s his confederate. I’ll bet she knows 
where everything in the house is.” 

“Knows where everything is! My stars! She’s 
turned everything upside down, from cellar to gar- 
ret. I don’t know myself where things is as well as 
she does.” 

“See that! What did I tell yeou? I’ll go git my 
handcuffs.” 

“Oh, Miss Abby,” called out Sally from the door- 
way, “have yeou seen anything of my thimble? I 
can’t find it anywhere.” 

“No, an’ what’s more, yeou won’t neither,” cried 
out Solon, triumphantly. “That gal has took it. I’ll 
go git my handcuffs, or yeou’ll all be murdered in 
yeour beds. There’ll be bloodshed, that’s what 
there’ll be,” and he shuffled off, leaving Miss Abby 
a prey to all kinds of terrors. 

“Oh, oh! did yeou hear what he said?” she cried 
out. hysterically. 

“What did he mean?” demanded Sally. 

“He said bloodshed,” repeated Miss Abby. 

“What about bloodshed?” asked Sally, scornfully, 
for she was no friend of his. 


172 


THE COUNTY FATE. 


“We are goin’ to be murdered in our beds.’’ 

“Who’s goin’ to do it?” 

“Taggs. Taggs and Mr. Tanner.” 

“Who says so?” demanded Sally, indignantly. 
“Old Hammerhead?” 

“Yes.” 

“The old snake in the e:rass, to say such things 
of our Taggs ! Dear little Taggs ! Why, Miss Abby, 
yeou don’t believe any such thing as that? Our 
Taggs, who loves us so much? Who says her 
prayers to yeou every night? Oh, Miss Abby, how 
could yeou believe it?” 

“I don’t believe it, Sally,” sobbed Miss Abby; “I 
don’t believe a word of it. But that Hammerhead 
comes over here an’ gets me so upset I don’t know 
what I do believe. I’ll scald that man if he comes 
here again. Poor little Taggs! Bless her heart! 
Sally, I didn’t believe him when he said it. I knew 
he was lyin’ all the time.” 

“Of course he was. Miss Abby. The idea of our 
Taggs doin’ anything wrong. Why, Miss Abby, I 
wouldn’t believe it if Hammerhead swore it on the 
Bible. I hate that Hammerhead!” 

“So do I, Sally. Snoopin’ ’raound here all the 
time ’baout that mortgage. But, Sally, what has 
become o’ yeour thimble?” 

“Why, I’ve mislaid it, I s’pose. I’ve done it lots 
o' times before ever Taggs came here. The very 
idea! But if it’ll satisfy yeou. Miss Abby, I’ll go 
look through her things. I know it won’t be there ; 
but I’ll go.” 

“The nasty thing!” soliloquized Miss Abby, as she 
sat alone on the garden seat. “I will scald him if 
he don’t keep away from here. Eh? What?” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


173 


For Sally stood in the door-way with a pale face 
and something held out in her trembling hand. 

“Oh, Miss Abby!” she wailed. 

“What? What is it?’’ 

“Otis’ watch !” 

“What abaout it?” 

“Oh, Miss Abby!” sobbed Sally. “I went to 
Taggs’ work-box, and opened it, and this lay in it. 
Otis’ watch!” 

“Stole it while he was asleep,” said Miss Abby, in 
an awed whisper. “Oh, Sally! Didn’t I tell yeou 
she was a thief? I knew she was all the time. I 
had no business to keep her. I ain’t no hand to 
bring up children, an’ never was. They all turn 
aout thieves. Oh, Sally ! What a mercy we found 
it out!” 

“Oh, Miss Abby, there may be some mistake ! Let 
us ask her. ” 

“Ask her, when the watch is there? I can’t keep 
her no longer. And, Sally, I’d grown xo love her 
like my own,” and Miss Abby, torn between her love 
and what she conceived to be her duty, put her face 
in her hands, and wept in unison with Sally. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE ACCUSATION. 

Taggs, in the meantime, in blissful unconscious- 
ness of the storm brewing over her head, was out 
in the fields, searching in the new grass for fiowers, 
with an ardor such as is only possible in a child 
who is having its first glimpse of nature springing 
into new life under its eyes. 

There was ecstasy in the freedom and freshness 


174 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


of her life in the country that was as intoxicating 
to her as wine, and her fresh young voice bubbled 
out in song as naturally as the loosened waters of 
the earth flowed out of the rocks and bubbled over 
the stony bed of the brook. 

She found two little handfuls of yellow dande- 
lions, each poor little flower being the signal for a 
squeal of joy, and when she had found all she 
could, it entered her head to give one bunch to Miss 
Abby and one bunch to Sally. And, full of the soft 
sentiment which rises naturally in the heart of the 
giver of flowers, she tripped over the meadows to 
the house. 

Peeping into the kitchen, she saw that Sally was 
not there, and so she ran around to the front of the 
house to find Miss Abby. 

The two were sitting sorrowfully on the bench to- 
gether as she espied them, and with a child’s play- 
fulness she ran softly around behind them, murmur- 
ing to herselP: 

“The two best friends I ever had!” 

They did not hear her approach, and were not 
.aware of her presence until each felt a warm little 
arm encircle her neck and each saw a bunch of dan- 
delions before her eyes. 

How could the affectionate child think else than 
that they would be pleased with her offerings? She 
stood behind them, her eyes twinkling with love 
and fun, saying nothing, but expecting to be hugged 
and kissed as she had often been before. 

Imagine then her surprise and dismay, when, in- 
stead of greeting her lovingly, they both arose and 
stood with averted faces and downcast eyes, neither 
able to face the poor child and deal her the blow 
that must fall. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


175 


Taggs looked around from one to the other for a 
moment, and then faltered : 

“Have I done something so very wrong?” 

“Oh, Taggs!” sobbed Sally. 

“Taggs!” wailed Miss Abby. ' 

She went wonderina:ly up to Miss Abby without 
any of her accustomed lightness, for she felt instinc- 
tively that something grave had happened, and 
pleadingly touched her hand. 

“Miss Abby!” she said, questioningly. 

Miss Abby only turned her head away and wept 
harder. 

“Sally!” and she turned to her, and put her arms 
around her. “Won’t you tell me? Have I done 
anything dreadful? I didn’t mean to. I don’t know 
what it is, but I’m awful sorry. Won’t you speak 
to me, Sally? Oh, Sally!” 

Her lip quivered and her voice trembled. A pun- 
ishment she would not have cared much for, but this 
silence was too hard for her. Sally turned and 
looked at her, and her heart melted. 

“Oh, Miss Abby!” she cried, as she took Taggs 
into her arms, “won’t yeou try her once more? I 
am sure she is sorry.” 

“No, Sally,” said Miss Abby, firmly, but tearfully, 
“she must go to-night. She mustn’t even stay till 
mornin’. I’d change my mind, I know I would, if 
she didn’t go right away.” 

“Send me away, Miss Abby!” cried the child, in a 
piteous tone. “Oh, you wouldn’t do that. What 
have I done?” 

“What have you done, Taggs?” repeated Miss 
Abby. “Ask yeour conscience. It will tell yeou.” 

“I don’t knqw what it is, Miss Abby. I know I’m 
naughty^ but I try to be good \ and, oh, Miss Ahby ! 


176 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


I do love you all so much. This is the only home I 
ever had, and, oh, I can’t go away. You won't send 
me away. Miss Abby. Sally, ask her not to send 
me away. I'll try ever so hard never to be naughty 
again, indeed I will.’’ 

“No, Taggs,” said Miss Abby, “’tain’t no use. 
Yeou must go, I can’t have a thief in my house.” 

“A thief. Miss Abby!” cried Taggs, in a horrified 
whisper. “Why, Miss Abby, I never stole nothin’ 
since I came to your house — nothin’ !” 

“Taggs,” said Miss Abby, more severely, “tellin’ 
a story won’t h^lp it any.” 

“I’m not tellin’ no story,” said Taggs, indignantly. 
“I never stole nothin’, ‘ceptin’ it was some cake or 
pie, or somethin’ like that.” 

“ ’Tain’t no use denyin’ it, Taggs. Sally found it 
there herself.” 

“Found what there? Where?’’ demanded Taggs, 
turning to Sally. 

“The watch, Taggs,” sobbed Sally. “Oh, Taggs, 
don’t deny it, dear. Confess, like a good girl, and I 
am sure Miss Abby will let yeou stay.” 

“I don’t know nothin’ about ho watch, an’ I won’t 
confess nothin’,” said Taggs, stoutly. 

“Take her in the house, an’ pack her things up, 
Sally. I’ll have Joel take her right over to the sta- 
tion. I know I’d change my mind if she was to stay 
around lookin’ at me like that,” muttered Miss 
Abby to herself. 

Taggs made no resistance, and asked no more 
questions. It seemed as if her heart was broken, 
and it made no difference to her what happened. 

Miss Abby watched her go into the house, and 
then turned to sit on the bench and have a good cry ; 
but as she turned she caught sight of Tim skipping 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


177 


along with a pail in his hand, making ready to fill it 
at the spring. 

“Here, yeou!’’ she cried, glad to have some one to 
vent her feelings on, “drop that pail! Don’t yeou 
touch another thing that belongs on this farm ! An’ 
if yeou know when yeou’re well off yeou’ll git aout 
o’ here as fast as the Lord’ll let yeou ! I won’t have 
no thieves cornin’ around my house, ready to mur- 
der an’ steal at the fust chance!” 

Tim dropped the pail at the first command, and 
would have made no effort to justify himself if Miss 
Abby had not gone on to say what she did. That he 
would not stand. He would have gone away and 
died in the fields, for he had been ready to do that 
before, but it was needless to brand him with so 
much infamy. 

He turned, and waited sullenly for her to finish. 

“Who said I wanted to steal or murder? He lied, 
whoever it was. Did Taggs say so?” 

“Ho, she didn’t, poor child.” 

‘Well,” he said, with a half hopeless, half reck- 
less shrug of the shoulders, “I suppose you found it 
out jest as the rest did. Because a feller’s been in 
jail yer won’t give him a chance to be honest. 
That’s the way it’s been all the time. They sent me 
out of jail without a cent, an’ when I tried to earn a 
honest livin’ somebody comes along an’ says, ‘he 
was in jail, he was,’ an’ then I’m sacked. All right, 
turn me away, an’ let me diet That’s all there is fer 
me to do. Nobody won’t let me be honest 1” and the 
poor lad sobbed with self-pity. 

“For the land’s sake! Haow yeou talk!” said 
Miss Abby, quite bewildered at this unexpected 
arraignment of herself and society. “I guess yeou 


178 


THE COUNTY FAIN. 


must be a wicked boy, or yeou wouldn’t ’a been in 
jail.” 

“Wicked!” said Tim. “Maybe I am; but, Miss 
Abby, I never stole nothin’ in my life, if I was put 
in prison fer it. Why, Miss Abby, I was only a boy, 
an’ they said I stole a horse ” 

“Stole a horse!” interrupted Miss Abby, casting a 
startled glance at him. 

“Yes, stole a horse. Oh, yes, it’s me, Miss Abby — 
it’s Tommy Greenaway. But, Miss Abby, as sure as 
there’s a God in heaven, I never stole no horse! I 
was only a little boy, an’ I was put on a horse to 
ride him. I never knew he’d been stolen from some 
stable till I was ’rested fer it. They wouldn’t listen 
ter me, and I was sent to jail. Won’t you believe 
me. Miss Abby? You know I never used to tell lies. 
Miss Abby, if you turn me off. I’ll die — I’m sure I 
will! Won’t you be my friend. Miss Abby?” 

Miss Abby had stood listening to Tom like a 
statue, so that it was no wonder if he was unable to 
judge what she intended to do. But the moment he 
had ceased to speak she rushed at him with open 
arms, crying: 

“Don’t yeou be afraid, Tommy. Nobody sha’n’t 
touch yeou. Tommy. Of course I believe every word 
yeou say ; an’ I don’t give a snap fer what Ham- 
merhead says. Oh, Tommy! Hammerhead — he’s 
gone fer handcuffs. Oh, dear! what shall we do? 
Here, Tommy, hide behind this tub. He may be 
here any minit. But don’t yeou be afraid— he 
sha’n’t touch yeou. Tommy!” and the good, tender- 
hearted creature hugged Tommy, and kissed him, 
and patted his head, and showed in every way how 
glad she was to have him back with her. 

And Tommy crouched behind the tub, because she 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


179 


told )iim to, feeling as if his bark had sailed into a 
safe haven at last. 

Miss Abby had, meanwhile, forgotten all about 
Taggs, and would hardly have remembered her had 
she not come out of the house with Sally at that mo- 
ment. She turned, and whispered to Tom : 

“Don’t tell Sally yet, Tom,” and then waited for 
Sally to speak, as she evidently intended to do. 

“Miss Abby,” she said, “she wouldn’t put on the 
clothes yeou gave her, but would have the old rags 
she came in; and she won’t take a thing but an old 
tin-type.” 

“I couldn’t take— take— take— anything,” said 
Taggs, “if you think I’m a thief — thief. But, Miss 
Abby, I’d like to have this picture o’ you, if you’ll 
let me have it.” 

“ ’Tain’t no picture o’ mine,” said Miss Abby, 
choking back the sobs that threatened to overcome 
her; “I never had no sich things taken. It’s my 
sister, ’Mandy ; but yeou’re vrelcome to it, if it’ll do 
yeou any good. Give her five dollars, Sally. That’ll 
take her back to the Mission.” 

“I’m not goin’ to no Mission,” said Taggs. 

“Oh, Taggs, where will you go?” asked Sally. 

“Oh, I can take care of myself. I’m big enough, 
an’ old enough. I’ll sell papers, or somethin’.” 

And with that she fell to weeping, Sally joining 
her, and Miss Abby following. 

While they were occupied in this way, Otis ap- 
peared on the threshold, and stared from one to the 
other in bewilderment. 

“Why, wha-at’s the matter?” he drawled. 

“Matter, Otis,” sobbed Miss Abby, “here’s Taggs 
went an’ stole yeour watch while yeou was asleep, 
an’ I’m sendin’ her away.” 


180 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


“Oil, you story-teller!’^ cried Taggs, dashing her 
tears away with the backs of her hands. “I never 
touched your watch.” 

“Taggs,” began Miss Abby, as sternly as she could 
for the tears, wlien Otis interrupted her. 

“When did she steal it, Miss Abby?” 

“Jest naow, an’ put it in her little mendin’ box to 
hide it.” 

“I did not,” said Taggs, vehemently. 

“Taggs I” 

“Now, see here. Miss Abby,” interrupted Otis 
again, in his slow way. “I think yeou must be mis- 
taken. When I went away that night— yeou remem- 
ber the night I went away?” 

“Fer the land’s sake! Will yeou go on, Otis 
Tucker?” 

“That’s jest what I was a-goin’ to do. Miss Abby. 
Wa-al, yeou see, I knowed I was goin’ to a danger- 
ous place like, an’ says I to myself, ‘Don’t take 
yeour watch, Otis, or it’ll be stole.’ So I jest took it 
aout o’ my waistcoat-pocket, an’ put it inter that 
little tin box on the dresser.” 

“Yeou did!” screamed Miss Abby. 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Wa-al, if yeou ain’t ashamed o’ yeourself yeou 
oughter be ! Taggs, my darling, come here ! Otis 
Tucker, I’ll never forgive yeou the longest day I 
live fer tryin’ to make my Taggs aout a thief.” 

“Why, Miss Abby ” 

“Don’t yeou speak to me! Sally, didn’t I say all 
along it couldn’t be true? Dear little Taggs. Jest 
like these men!” 

“Oh! Here yeou are. Miss Abby,” cried a new 
voice. “Where are them thieves?” 

“Yeou, Solon Hammerhead!” cried Miss Abby, 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


181 


overturning the tub and taking Tom under one arm 
and Taggs under the other. “Here they are, an’ here 
they stay ! An’ if yeou want to be scalded, jest 
yeou come foolin’ ’raound here after ’em. Naow 
yeou go home quicker ’n yeou came!” 

This unexpected treatment so confused Hammer- 
head that he retreated before the wrathful woman in 
such haste that he stepped into a bucket of water, 
fell over, and rolled in the wet, and betook himself 
off, swearing revenge, and followed by the howls of 
the spectators. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

TOM MAKES A PLEASING DISCOVERY. 

After that there were very different times for 
Tom. Freed from anxiety and from the fear of be- 
ing discovered as a recent jail-bird, he soon lost his 
hang-dog expression, and went about with his head 
as erect as a consciousness of honesty should make 
him. 

Then, too, good food and rest brought the color 
back to his cheeks, and it was a wonder Sally did 
not suspect him as the lost Tommy, for whom she 
had not ceased to mourn. But she did not, and Miss 
Abby and Tom both agreed that it would be better 
not to tell her. 

They had not the same reason for agreeing, how- 
ever. Tom was sore to think his sister had not an- 
swered his letter, not remembering that he had given 
her no address, and that was why he was willing to 
remain unknown to her. Miss Abby was willing, be- 
cause she was willing to give Tom time to prove that 
he was what he protested he was— perfectly honest. 


182 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


Not that she withheld from him any of the affection 
which she had always had for him. She loved him 
rather more for his possible wickedness and his prob- 
ably unmerited suffering. 

But if Tom did not reveal himself as Sally's 
brother, he did very soon win her regard by his at- 
tentions to her — attentions not always relished by 
Joel, who was too much in love to be reasonable, and 
who would not consider Tom's age when he saw how 
fond Sally had become of the stranger lad. 

Taggs, too, found herself in a new position. She 
had never given the matter much thought before, 
but now she realized that she was a fixture in her 
new home. The false accusation and subsequent 
demonstration of her innocence had endeared her 
more than before to Miss Abby and Sally ; and per- 
haps the fright of the few moments when she 
thought she was to return to her old haunts had 
opened up to her a new view of her duties toward 
her benefactress. At any rate, she was now like a 
daughter in the house, both as to her own attitude 
and to theirs. 

She was too quick-witted not to see that there was 
something secret between Tom and Miss Abby, and 
perhaps it was only natural that she should try to 
surprise that secret. 

She watched them closely, and more than once 
saw Miss Abby with her arm around the boy. This, 
and once hearing her call him Tommy, gave the 
shrewd child the clew she was seeking; so one day 
she determined to test her discovery. 

She and Miss Abby were alone one afternoon, and 
as they sat together she asked Miss Abby if she 
would like to know how she and Tim had first be- 
come acquainted. The liking of a story is strong 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


183 


within all of us, and Miss Abby, being no exception, 
said yes at once. 

Then Taggs, with a due regard to dramatic effect, 
told the story of her first meeting with Tim, and of 
his subsequent kindness to her, bringing tears to the 
kindly spinster’s eyes more than once. After that 
she told of how Tim had come to the house the night 
Otis had gone to New York, and how she had fed 
him at the barn for so long a time. 

“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Miss Abby, 
suddenly, through the tears her sympathy had 
drawn from her eyes. “That’s where all them vittles 
went to then. I wondered where yeou put them all.” 

“Yer not angry with me, are you. Miss Abby?” 
asked Taggs. 

“Angry! No, bless yeour heart!” 

“I was afraid you would be then; but when I 
found out Tim was Sally’s brother, I was sure yer 
wouldn’t mind.” 

“So yeou know that, do yeou?” said Miss Abby, in 
surprise, but with perfect good faith. “Tommy told 
yeou, did he?” 

“No, ma’am,” laughed Taggs, gleefully. “I only 
s’pected it from your huggin’ him, an’ from bearin’ 
you call him Tommy once. But now you’ve given 
it away your own self. Oh, I’m so glad! Why 
don’t you tell Sally? She doesn’t know, does she?” 

At first Miss Abby was vexed, and then she was 
amused to think how she had been led to betray her- 
self ; and after that there were three of them to 
keep a secret ; though Taggs would have taken Sally 
into the secret in an instant had it not been for 
Tom’s vehement protest against it. 

They were all happy for a while after the readjust- 
ment of the trouble brought about by Hammerhead’s 


184 


THE COUNTY FATR. 


interference ; but pretty soon the fellow began to 
visit the place again, and then it came to be felt that 
there was an undercurrent of unhapniness in the 
life of Miss Abby, whom they all loved so dearly. 

They all knew of the mortgage on the place, but 
until Miss Abby told them one night they did not 
know its amount nor how impossible it would be for 
her to pay it off. Then, too, for the first time they 
comprehended the consequences to themselves, as 
well as to Miss Abby, of the foreclosure of the 
mortgage. 

Tom and Taggs after that had many a secret con- 
fab over the matter, each striving to think of some 
way of averting from Miss Abby the disaster that 
threatened her. And sometimes Sally Was admitted 
to the conference, but she would only listen with 
sad, incredulous smiles, and finally say that it was 
useless for such children to talk about it. 

They were somewhat of the same notion them- 
selves, but it was not pleasant to be plainly told so, 
and finally they ceased to admit Sally to their 
councils. Every time there was a visit from Ham- 
merhead and a consequent lowering of Miss Abby’s 
spirits— for he always spoke of the mortgage, or the 
marriage with him as an alternative — they would 
retire to the barn, and there hold an indignation 
meeting. 

Then it came about that since they could think of 
no way of rescuing Miss Abby from his clutches, 
they turned their minds to some plan for making 
life as uncomfortable for him as he was making it 
uncomfortable for Miss Abby. 

This was hailed as a brilliant scheme, and they 
put their joint intellects to it with an ardor that 
could not help resulting in success. And the con- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


185 


sequence was that presently life became a very un- 
certain thing to Solon Hammerhead, for whenever 
he ventured to wander across Miss Abby’s woods to 
reach her house, he was certain to fall into some 
cunningly contrived trap. 

Once it was a steel trap, which Tom innocently de- 
clared he had set for a skunk that was stealing 
their chickens. Solon limped, with the trap on his 
foot, all the way to Miss Abby’s house. Again it 
was two tufts of grass so deftly knotted over the 
pathway that Solon tripped over it and measured 
his length on the grass. 

Another time it was a rail so rotten that it fell 
with his weight, though he had climbed over the same 
spot many a time before. Once it was a piece of 
stout twine that caught him under the nose as he 
was going home at dusk, and sat him suddenly 
down. At least he said it was a piece of twine, 
though there was no sign of it when he got up and 
looked. He was sure, however, that he heard sounds 
of suppressed laughter at the time. 

These, and fifty other devices kept Tom and Taggs 
busy for some time, but as they did not serve to re- 
lieve Miss Abby of the occasional fits of melancholy 
that overtook her, they finally lost their pleasure in 
them, and returned to their original idea of helping 
her pay the mortgage. 

In all probability they would have racked their 
brains to no purpose had not accident come to their 
aid and suggested a way which to them was full 
of promise, if nothing more. 

It happened one night that Taggs, from partaking 
too freely of fruit not yet ripe, was seized with pains 
in the region of her apron-string, which made her 
howl, and caused Miss Abby to fear serious results. 


186 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


So Tom was called out of bed and sent for the 
doctor. 

He saddled the colt, the name of which was Cold 
Molasses, and set off with a haste prompted by his 
regard for Taggs, whom he believed to be on the 
point of death. 

The colt was willing, and needed no urging, but 
Tom would not be satisfied with anything less than 
the best the colt could do, so he cut him with his 
switch, and the startled animal stretched his legs 
in a way to surprise even Tom, who had already 
come to the decision that the colt was an unusually 
good one. 

However, he thought nothing special of it at the 
time, and it was not until the next day, when Taggs 
was running about as usual, that it recurred to him. 
Then it flashed over him, and connected itself with 
another idea in a way to make him yell and dance 
for joy. 

‘‘What’s the matter?” demanded Taggs. 

“Matter?” cried he. “Go into the kitchen and 
bring the county paper out to me in the barn. 
Quick, now, if you want to hear something to make 
your hair curl!” 

So Taggs ran and took him the paper, as if the 
dearest desire of her life was to hear something that 
would make her hair curl. 

“What is it, Tim? Anything about the mort- 
gage?” she asked. 

“Let me see the paper first.” 

He took the paper and turned it over and inside 
out until he had found what he sought, which ap- 
parently was the advertisement of the next county 
fair at Burlington. 

“There you are!” he said, triumphantly, and he 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


187 


pointed to a part of it, which Taggs with some diffi- 
culty read, for she was not yet a perfect scholar. 

‘‘Well, what of it?'’ she asked. 

“What of it? Don’t you see what it says? A race 
for three-year-olds, for three thousand dollars ! 
How high is that?” 

“I don’t see yet, Tim.” 

“You don’t see? Well, that’s because you don’t 
know Cold Molasses, that’s all.” 

“Cold Molasses?” 

“Yes, Cold Molasses. What’s the matter with en- 
tering him?” 

“Do you think he could win?” 

“Well, I should smile! He’s a daisy-cutter, he 
is! I know a horse when I see one, and he’s a good 
’un, an’ don’t you forget it.” 

“Oh, Tim!” cried Taggs, clapping her hands in 
the excess of her joy, “then it’ll be all right abou 
the mortgage. Let’s go tell Miss Abby right away.” 

“Tell Miss Abby! Why, you’re crazy! D’you 
know what she’d say? She’d say it was all non- 
sense, in the first place, and then she wouldn’t let 
her horse race for anything. Oh, I know her. What 
we’ve got to do, Taggs, is to train Cold Molasses, and 
enter him without a word to Miss Abby. We won’t 
tell anybody a word about the whole business until 
it’s done. Then I go up to Miss Abby and hands her 
the boodle, and takes Mr. Hammerhead by the 
scruff o’ the neck, and walks him Spanish clean off 
the farm. Hey?” 

“You bet we will!” said Taggs, and thereafter 
their minds were at rest, for it was a foregone con- 
clusion with those enthusiastic young people, who 
either forgot or did not know all those unpleasant 
and hope-quenching proverbs with which unsuccess- 


188 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


ful older persons dampen the ardor of hopeful young 
ones. 

'‘Counting chickens before they are hatched.” 
“Wearing a coat before the cloth is made.” “Many 
a slip ’twixt the cup and lip.” These are the prov- 
erbs that always drip like rain from the cloudy 
skies of failure and disappointment. 

Our enthusiastic pair gave themselves no thought 
of them, and in their minds the mortgage was paid 
off. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE TRAINING OF COLD MOLASSES. 

Having decided that Cold Molasses was to run in 
the race, it behooved Tom to commence training him 
at once. It was not as easy to do as it might have 
seemed, for it required such a radical change in the 
quiet habits of the colt that it would have been 
strange indeed if no one on the farm had noticed it." 

Joel was the first to see that something out of the 
ordinary rut was going on, but he only shrugged his 
shoulders, for two reasons. Tom had been given 
the care of the horses, and unless he should be doing 
something to injure the colt, Joel determined to let 
him have what he called rope enough to hang him- 
self with. 

The second reason was that Joel was a little out 
of sorts with Sally for her liking for Tom, and he 
was not unwilling that he should do something to 
bring down on him Miss Abby’s wrath. 

So the training went on. Cold Molasses received 
such currying and rubbing, such messes of oats, 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


189 


such systematic exercise, that he began to feel like 
an entirely different animal. 

He had been a fat colt, but Tom’s first care had 
been to get rid of that fat, and to that end he had 
sent him over the roads till the sweat rolled off of 
him, and the white lather covered him as if he had 
been soaped. 

Everything went so smoothly with the training 
that Tom began to be more careless, with the result 
of having Miss Abby tell him that he must not ride 
the colt so hard. But that was all. The good lady 
had not had occasion to take a close view of the colt, 
and therefore she had remained in ignorance of 
what was being done to him as to his personal ap- 
pearance. 

One Sunday, however, when it happened that 
Tom had gone somewhere. Miss Abby took it into 
her head that the colt ought to be driven more, and 
so she told Joel to harness him to the open wagon so 
that she might drive to church. 

Joel put the harness on, and hooked the colt up to 
the wagon, and led him around to the front of the 
house, where Miss Abby was waiting. Joel was 
rather glad of the opportunity. 

The colt was a great pet of Miss Abby, and she 
gave it a dreamy, affectionate glance, and was 
about to get into the wagon when she stopped short, 
and after a stare first of surprise, and then of indig- 
nation, turned on Joel. 

“Fer the land’s sake, Joel Bartlett! what is the 
matter with this colt?” 

“Haow d’yeou mean, Miss Abby?” 

“Haow do I mean? Good land! ain’t yeou any 
eyes in yeour head to see? Why, he don’t get 
’nough to eat. Look at his ribs.” 


190 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


“I don’t feed the horses, Miss Abby; it’s Tim.” 

“Wa-al, my stars! yeou needn’t let the critter 
starve, fer all that, need you?” 

“I didn’t like to interfere. Yeou all seem to think 
Tim can’t do nothin’ wrong,” answered Joel, sulkily. 

“Can’t do nothin’ wrong! My land! Wa-al, he 
ain’t a-goin’ to starve no horse on this farm— as 
long’s it’s mine, anyhow. I’ll let Tim know that, 
too.” 

Miss Abby was very indignant, and when she took 
the reins she was half inclined to put them down 
again, and not drive the poor creature in such a 
starved condition. But, then, the other horses were 
working hard all the week, and there was nothing 
but hard work ahead of them for some time to come, 
and so she decided to go on, but to be very easy on 
the colt. 

Cold Molasses went along very nicely and quietly, 
but Miss Abby could not help noticing that he did 
not seem to be feeling so very miserable. She laid 
that to his youth and natural spirit, however, and 
kept him at that jog which is so grateful to the aver- 
age woman, and so exasperating to the average 
man. 

Perhaps Cold Molasses in his secret heart would 
have liked a somewhat quicker pace than he was 
allowed to go, but he made no objection to his mis- 
tress’ whim as long as they were m the side road; 
but when they reached the highway and came to the 
spot where Tim usually let him out a little, he began 
to grow more restive. 

It was true he was before a wagon now, and not 
under saddle, as when Tom was exercising him, and 
so he was a little doubtful about what he ought to 
do. He certainly was uneasy, however, and it took 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


191 


all of Miss Abby’s skill to keep him at a moderate 
pace. 

Still he was a sensible horse, and when he dis- 
covered that he was not out for the usual gallop, he 
gradually subsided, and fell into the slow trot which 
Miss Abby preferred, and would have kept it, no 
doubt, all the way to meeting had not young Abner 
Green come along with his blooded mare, and tried 
to pass them. Perhaps if Miss Abby had not been 
going to meeting it would not have mattered so 
much ; but if there was one thing she was a stickler 
for it was decorum on the Sabbath, and fast driving 
on the Sabbath was to her one of the most 
grievous breaches of decorum. 

Of course, any one who drives a colt must expect 
to go differently from the one who drives a sedate 
old horse ; and then, too, it must be remembered for 
Cold Molasses that he had been fed well and 
groomed until he felt as if he could fly if he wanted 
to. 

Well, he heard the rapid patter of the feet of the 
blooded mare, and he stretched his neck out a 
little, and felt of the bit. Miss Abby said “Whoa!’’ 
and pulled gently on the reins. Cold Molasses 
pricked his ears, and flung up his head, and danced 
ever so little. 

The blooded mare was closing up behind them, 
and there was something extremely maddening to 
Cold Molasses in the thought that he could easily 
distance the mare and yet must let her pass him. 

Still he was a respectful colt, and in the habit of 
obeying orders, so he only flung his head a little more, 
and pricked his ears back and forth uneasily, until 
the quick patter, patter was so close behind him that 
it drove him out of his self-control, and he made up 


192 


THE COUNTY FAIR 


his mind that he would give the mare a lesson, come 
what might. 

He obeyed the rein, and swerved out to let the 
mare come alongside. That was only fair, perhaps ; 
but let her pass him? Never! He bore down on the 
bit, and threw himself forward in the harness until 
the traces were as tightly drawn as a fiddle-string. 

‘‘Whoa, naow, old fellow,” said Miss Abby, coax- 
ingly, tugging at the reins with increased force. 
“Whoa, naow! Whoa! Isay. Whoa-a-a!” 

But Cold Molasses was to be neither coaxed nor 
bullied into letting the mare pass him. He put 
his ears straight ahead of him, stuck out his nose, 
planted his hind feet down with a thud, thud, and 
threw out his fore feet as if they were attached to 
piston-rods. 

Young Abner’s mare let her off ear fiop once or 
twice, and cocked her eye to see if the colt was in 
dead earnest. Young Abner himself braced his 
feet, gathered up the reins until his hands were in 
the loops, looked askance at Miss Abby, gave a soft 
chirp to his animal, and then looked as unconscious 
as he could. 

Miss Abby would have given young Abner a with- 
ering glance only she did not dare take her attention 
from Cold Molasses. She, too, braced her feet, as- 
suming a most mortifyingly sportive attitude in 
doing so. She, too, gathered up the reins, and held 
them in both hands, pulling for dear life. 

There was a clear road and a fair start. 

The mare was a goer— a good, square trotter, and 
she dropped into her work just as soon as she real- 
ized that there was business before her. Young 
Abner held her steady and chirped to her. 

Cold Molasses was not much of a trotter. You 


THE COUNTY FATE. 


193 


could see that in the way he managed his hind 
feet. He did not squat, as the mare did ; and then, 
too, Miss Abby did not giye him a fair chance, for 
she kept up an unsteady tugging at the reins all the 
time. 

The mare forged ahead. Young Abner cast a sly 
glance at Miss Abby. She was full of thoughts, but 
speechless. She saw the glance, and boiled ; but it 
was enough for her to cling to the reins. It was the 
first emergency in her life when words had failed 
her. 

Cold Molasses saw the mare pass him, and it sud- 
denly came oyer him that it was folly for him to 
think of competing with her at the trot. He would 
not be beaten, so he stretched his nose a little fur- 
ther out, and broke into a gallop. 

That was better, and he passed the mare like a 
shot. Young Abner pulled up. Cold Molasses had 
his blood up now, howeyer, and it did not matter if 
the mare had giyen up the race. There was a string 
of wagons ahead of them on the road now, for the 
meeting-house was not half a mile away. 

Cold Molasses shook his head, got the bit where he 
wanted it, and went as he was wont to go with Tom 
on his back. 

Miss Abby tried to yell whoa, but the wind 
whistled so about her head, and the road was so 
rough, that she could make nothing but gurgles of 
the word. Cold Molasses flew oyer the road, and the 
wagon bumped after him like a cork, with Miss Ab- 
by meeting the wagon half way each time it 
bounced. 

The good lady’s toilet had not been made for such 
a ride, and presently her bonnet flew off her head 
and hung rakishly down her back. Then her shawl 


194 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


broke loose and streamed behind her. And so she 
flew down the road. 

Solon Hammerhead, in his old gig, happened to be 
the first ahead of her. He was jogging along in the 
middle of the road, where, of course, he had no busi- 
ness to be, and Cold Molasses tried to get around 
him. But he was not used to going without guid- 
ance, and of a sudden Solon was whirled around, and 
yelled out in his fright, just in time to see Cold 
Molasses fly by, and to find himself dropped to the 
ground with one of his wheels rolling on alone. 

On flew the colt. It was nothing to him now that 
the wagon had swerved off the road into the ditch. 
He only heard Miss Abby’s yells of encouragement. 
That is^ what he understood them to be. It did not 
matter to him, because he did not know it, that Miss 
Abby had lost her balance, and was lying on her 
back in the wagon, her feet displaying themselves in 
a most unseemly' fashion, and waving riotously in 
the air. 

Carriages drew aside, and people flocked out of the 
meeting-house and crowded the porch to see Miss 
Abby go by. 

And she did go by. Whir ! bang ! clatter ! whiz ! 
She flew by ! 

Cold Molasses enjoyed it thoroughly. It was the 
best run he had had for a long time, for Tom would 
not give him his head, as Miss Abby had done, and 
he had always been obliged to pull up just when he 
was enjoying it most. This time he was going to 
keep it up as long as there was any fun in it. And 
he did. 

He had the whole road to himself as soon as he 
was espied, and he went on at full speed for three 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


195 


miles, when he concluded that he had had enough, 
and would stop. He did stop. 

Miss Abby? 

Do not ask how she appeared as she arose from 
the bottom of the wagon. She certainly did not have 
the appearance of a conquering J uno, or a triumph- 
ant Minerva. But she still held the reins. She 
had not let go her hold on them. 

Cold Molasses stood by the roadside and panted, 
and panted. Miss Abby climbed out of the wagon, 
and adjusted herself to her clothing as well as she 
could. She looked a volume of reproaches at the colt, 
but was not yet equal to words. 

She brushed the dust off her gown, excepting on 
the back, where it was dustiest ; she gathered her 
shawl around her, and did what she could to restore 
her disheveled hair to order. She put her bonnet 
on again, and then looked all around her. No one 
was in sight. 

“It’s a mercy I’m alive!” she said, reproachfully, 
to the colt, and then climbed into the wagon, and 
carefully turned him toward home. 

Without having a remarkably lively imagination, 
she was yet able to picture somewhat how she must 
have looked as she passed the meeting-house. She 
had not been able to see anything at the time, but 
she knew that the porch must have been crowded, 
and instinctively she made a hurried inventory of 
her wearing apparel. 

“Thank goodness!” she murmured; “I had my 
new stockings on!” 

She drove back home by the meeting-house, be- 
cause it was the only way to go, but she bore herself 
with a proud dignity that would inevitably have im- 


196 


THE COUNTY fAIB. 


posed upon any person who had not witnessed the 
performance of the colt. 

Some of the young and thoughtless members of 
the congregation stood out in front as she drove by 
and she heard them giggle. 

“Snicker!’’ she said; but she only looked straight 
ahead of her, and seemed not to notice them. 

It would not have mattered if she had looked 
around, for she would not have seen Taggs and Tom, 
for they were hidden behind a tree, whither they 
had retreated, as soon as they saw her driving back. 

They had been terribly frightened at first, when 
they saw her flying past, but as soon as they knew 
she was safe they remembered only the part that 
was funny to them, and they laughed. Miss Abby 
would not have been able to appreciate their mirth, 
and it was well for them that she did not see them. 

She drove home quietly, for since the colt had 
had his run he was satisfled, and was willing to jog 
along at Miss Abby’s pace, and her pace was a slow 
one. Joel wondered at the colt’s condition, but he 
asked no questions, for there was an expression in 
Miss Abby’s face that discouraged it. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

SALLY LEARNS SOMETHING. 

That afternoon Miss Abby called Tom to her, and 
in the presence of the others first upbraided him for 
his treatment of the colt, which had spoiled its tem- 
per ; then insisted that he should feed it more, and 
Anally that he must ride it no more. 

She said nothing of her ride of the morning, and 
none of the others spoke of it, although they ex- 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


197 


changed glances, for both Sally and Joel had heard 
of it. 

Tom said ‘‘Yes, ma’am,^’ to everything, and Miss 
Abby retired, satisfied that in the future the colt 
would behave himself. 

Tom, however, had his scheme too much at heart 
to give it up for fear of a scolding, and he kept up 
his training, though using more caution now. And 
the more he trained the more satisfied he was that 
the colt was a good one. 

He was not willing to let it go at that, however, 
so he contrived to get away to Burlington, where he 
learned the names of most of the entries and what 
they had done, and he returned home feeling 
more sure than ever that not one of them could beat 
his colt. 

The summer had gone, and the county fair was 
not far off now. Time for final entry and payment 
of entrance fee was still nearer, and now Tom found 
himself in a serious quandary. Where was he to 
get the necessary twenty-five dollars? He had two 
dollars, and Taggs had thirty-nine cents, which she 
was willing to give in the good cause, but these 
were despairingly far from the amount needed. 

What to do was the burden in these days of many 
an anxious conference between the two. 

“Why not ask Sally to help us?’’ said Taggs, time 
after time. 

“No, I won’t let her have anything to do with it. 
She will be sure to blab it all to that Joel, and he’s 
just a marplot.” 

But Taggs insisted that Sally would not do any- 
thing of the sort, and Tom was half won over to 
take Sally into his confidence when it happened that 


198 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


he could not very well help himself, and he opened 
to her his scheme. 

It happened in this way : He had just been giving 
the colt his gallop, and had stolen in with him, as he 
thought, unobserved, when Sally, who had seen him 
from her window, came running indignantly out. 

“Tim, you shall not abuse that colt so,” she cried 
out. “Just look at him! Why, he’s panting, and 
as wet as he can be. It’s downright cruel, so it is, 
and yeou shan’t ride him any more. I’m going to 
tell Miss Abby. Haow can yeou be so wicked? I 
thought yeou was so kind to animals!” 

“Oh, don’t get so huffy,” said Tom, sulkily. “I 
didn’t hurt the horse, and ain’t a-goin’ ter.” 

“Well, I’m going to tell Miss Abby unless yeou 
promise me not to do it again.” 

“No, you won’t, neither,” said Taggs. 

“Yes, I will.” 

“No, you won’t, Sally; will she, Tim?” 

“I don’t know what she’ll do.” 

“Well, I will tell,” insisted Sally, stoutly. 

“Why don’t you tell her, Tim?” said Taggs. 

“Oh, that won’t do no good,” said Tom, who 
wanted to seem* something of a martyr. 

“Well, I’m going to tell her, anyhow,” said Taggs. 
“Say, Sally, don’t you want Miss Abby to pay off 
that mortgage to old Hammerhead?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Well, then, you’d better keep still about Tim, fer 
he’s goin’ to do it.” 

“Tim goin’ to do it!” was the incredulous cry. 

“Yes, Tim; but he wants you to help him— don’t 
you, Tim?” 

“Oh, she won’t help us. So what’s the use o’ 
talkin’?” answered Tim. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


199 


‘‘I will help you if I can, Tim— you know that; 
but I don’t see what you can do.” 

‘‘Tell her, Tim,” urged Taggs. 

“Well, then,” said Tim, “I ain’t goin’ to do it 
alone. Cold Molasses is a-goin’ to do it.” 

“Cold Molasses I How can he help?” demanded 
Sally. 

“At the county fair. There are to be races there, 
and I want to enter him and win the prize. You see, 
I ain’t got money enough, and I want you to let us 
have some of yours. Will you?” 

“But I don’t understand. The mortgage is nearly 
two thousand dollars, I think. Did yeou know 
that?” 

“Of course. But the prize is three thousand 
dollars.” 

‘ ‘Three thousand ! Oh, Tim ! ’ ’ 

“And he can just walk away from the whole lot o’ 
them. I’ve been to Burlington, an’ know the horses 
that’s to run, an’ I tell you, Cold Molasses can beat 
the hull lot. All I want’s enough money to enter 
him. You see, Sally, I was brought up on a race- 
course, and know horses just like you know flowers. 
I saw he was a good ’un the minute I lay eyes on 
him. Then when I heard about the mortgage, and 
the prize at the fair, I made up my mind that was 
the little game. So I went to work and trained him, 
and you can bet your sweet life Cold Molasses takes 
the deck. Will you help us, Sally?” 

“But Miss Abby would never let him run.” 

“Bah!” said Tom. “I ain’t a-goin’ to ask her.” 

“But she doesn’t believe in racing. I’m afraid 
she wouldn’t touch the money if it was got in that 
way.” 

_ “Rats! She’s goin’ to put a quilt in for a prize, 


200 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


ain’t she? Well, what’s the difference? Don’t you 
fret your gizzard about that. You show her three 
thousand dollars in one hand, and an order to let old 
Hammerhead have the farm in the other hand, and 
see how long she’ll stop to pick. And, Sally, Cold 
Molasses can do the trick, don’t you forget that.” 

‘^Oh, Tim!” cried Sally, quite carried away by 
Tim’s confidence, ‘Tf yeou only could save the farm 
for Miss Abby. Yeou don’t any of yeou know as 
well as I do how it’s worryin’ her. Dear, good Miss 
Abby! I’d give my right hand — both hands — to 
help her. Yeou shall have every cent I have, if it’s 
necessary. Haow much do yeou want?” 

“Twenty-five dollars.” 

“Twenty-five dollars! Why, all I’ve got is six. Oh, 
dear! what makes it cost so much? Can’t yeou 
enter him, and promise to pay it after yeou’ve 
won?” 

“Well, I should say not. No, sir, the money’s got 
to be paid down before the colt can enter.” 

“And ain’t there anything we can do?” 

“I’ve got two dollars, and that, with yours, makes 
eight ” 

“And my thirty -nine cents,” said Taggs. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Sally, coming out of a 
brown study, “I’ll ask Otis Tucker. He’ll let me 
have it if I tell him what I want it for. May I tell 
him?” 

“If you think he won’t blab.” 

“He won’t. Oh, Tim, I’m so glad Miss Abby won’t 
have to be turned off the farm. I don’t know what 
she would do if she had to leave the farm.” 

“Well, she won’t leave it. Don’t you be afraid. 
I know a horse when I see one. I’ve had my leg 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


201 


over many’s the flyer, but he takes the cake, he 
does.” 

“Tim,” said Sally, questioningly, “have yeou 
really been much on the race-track?” 

“I should smile.” 

“Did yeou ever come across a little fellow by the 
name of Tommy Greenaway?” 

“Tommy Greenaway? Let me see! A little chap, 
lookin’ something like me?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“Why, I think I did know him once. Let me see ! 
What became of him?” and Tom looked as if search- 
ing his memory. “Oh, yes, I know; he was put in 
jail for stealin’ a horse.” 

“I don’t believe any such thing, Tim, and it’s real 
wicked of yeou to say so,” and the tears came to 
Sally’s eyes. 

“W'ell, it’s so, anyhow,” said Tom. 

“I don’t believe it. He was my brother, and I 
know Tommy would never do such a thing.” 

“No more he would,” said Taggs, full of sympathy 
for Sally. “Shame on you, Tim, for sayin’ so. I’m 
just goin’ to give the whole thing away, I am, for 
tollin’ Sally silch a story.” 

“Well, he was,” insisted Tom. ^ 

“But you know very well he didn’t steal the 
horse,” said Taggs. 

“Why, Taggs, did yeou know him, too?” cried 
Sally. 

“Know him! Why, Sally, Tim’s your brother 
Tommy. Miss Abby an’ me’s known it this long 
time.” 

Sally turned to Tom with a face in which belief 
and fear were struggling. 

“It’s so,” said Tom. 


202 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘Oh, Tommy sobbed Sally, “why didn’t yeou 
tell me before? Naow I know what made me like 
yeou so much. Yes, I know it’s yeou naow,” and 
she threw her arms around him, and kissed him over 
and over. 

“Why didn’t you answer my letter?” demanded 
Tom, as glad of Sally’s tears and kisses as could be, 
but, boy-like, wishing to seem above them. 

“Oh, Tommy! and yeou never put any address in 
it!” 

“So I didn’t,” said Tom. “And I thought all the 
time that mebbe you’d heard I was in jail an was 
ashamed to write to me.” 

“In jail. Tommy ! Really?” 

“I was innocent, Sally, so don’t worry about that.” 

“Look here, Tim, Miss Ahby told yeou not to ride 
that colt any more,” suddenly broke in the voice of 
Joel, pitched in very harsh tones. 

“Did she?” said Tom, saucily. 

“Yes, she did, and I want yeou to understand 
yeou’ve got to stop it.” 

“He’ll do just as he pleases, Joel Bartlett,” said 
Sally, quickly. 

“Oh, all right,” said Joel, in a tone in which a 
broken h^rt and green jealousy were equally 
mixed, “if you stand up for him against Miss Abby, 
I ain’t no more to say. Only I’ve done my 
duty,” and he walked hurriedly away. 

“Joel,” cried Sally, hurrying after him, “wait a 
minute!” 

But Joel was too deeply hurt to listen to her, and 
with a dogged shake of his head he went out into 
the field, and cut corn like a man possessed. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


203 


CHAPTERR XXIV. 

THE DAY BEFORE THE FAIR. 

Sally’s interests as a sister were rather inimical to 
her interests as a sweetheart ; or, more correctly, 
she and Joel together made them so. She tried once 
and again to explain to Joel, but he met her with so 
much frigid politeness and haughtiness that she be- 
came angry in her turn, and would make no more 
explanation. 

So gradually they grew further and further apart, 
and more miserable each day. Only Sally had the 
double consolation of knowing that she had found 
her brother, and that Miss Abby’s mortgage was 
certainly to be paid off. For, bless her heart ! she 
had no doubt whatever that Cold Molasses would 
win, as Tommy said, ‘‘with hands down.” 

She had early waylaid Otis, and led him to the 
barn, where Tom and Taggs were waiting, and there 
had told him, with all her enthusiasm, about the 
scheme. 

“Don’t yeou see, Otis,” she had exclaimed, “if 
yeou will let us have the money we need. Miss 
Abby’s mortgage will be paid off in time. Why, I 
can see it all just as plain” — Tom had described it so 
often to her. “There will be all the horses, their 
coats all shining, prancing and dancing about on 
the turf, with the jockeys in their gay colors on 
their backs, waiting for the word to go. When that 
comes away they go, with Tommy leading on Cold 
Molasses, and keeping a length between him and 
the others all the time ” 


204 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


‘‘An’ then droppin’ behind and cornin’ in last,” in- 
terrupted Otis, dryly. 

“No, he won’t; will yeou, Tommy?” 

“Indeed I won’t, Otis,” said Tommy, in answer to 
this appeal. “He’s the best colt entered, and he’s 
bound to win !” 

“And, anyhow,” said Sally, “ain’t it worth some- 
thing to try to help Miss Abby? I didn’t think 
yeou’d be the one to hold back, Otis.” 

This was an argument Otis could not bear up 
against, so he presently agreed to get the needful 
money, and did so. After that he was drawn into 
the same whirlpool of enthusiasm as the others, and 
before long was seeing the victory won just as often 
as Sall}^ and Taggs. 

Tom believed he could win, but he had ridden so 
many races that he was quite aware that sometimes 
it was not possible to pick out the winner. 

But the race for the three thousand dollars was 
not the only secret discussed in the barn, in which 
neither Miss Abby nor Joel were sharers. Sally and 
Taggs had conceived a plan, which they considered 
a wonderfully good one, of making Miss Abby happy 
even in the improbable event of the failure of Cold 
Molasses to win. 

Taggs had said : 

“Why doesn’t Otis marry Miss Abby?” 

“I wish he would,” said Sally. “She’d be happy 
then, no matter what happened.” 

“Well, why don’t he?” 

“Too bashful to speak,” said Sally, thinking, with 
a sigh, of the time Joel had spoken to her, and of how 
he was so distant now. 

“Huh!” said Taggs, with contempt, “I don’t see 
what he has to be bashful about. If a feller can 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


206 


court a gal fer fourteen years, I don’t see as it’s 
much more to ask her to marry.” 

‘‘Let’s put him up to it,” said Sally. 

“Let’s,” agreed Taggs. 

So the two set to work to force poor Otis to do the 
thing he had been on the verge of doing any time 
these fourteen years. It was hard work. He was 
willing, but hadn’t the courage. Of course they 
did not urge him outright to speak to Miss Abby, 
nor did he admit that he was too bashful, but that 
was the amount of it. 

Finally Sally had a bright idea, and, after getting 
the approval of Tom and Taggs, proceeded to put it 
into operation, to the consternation of Otis at first, 
and afterward to his secret delight. Indeed so de- 
lighted was he that he frequented Miss Abby’s barn 
so much that she began to wonder what he was 
doing there. 

This wonder led to sufficient curiosity to make her 
watch a little closer than her unhappiness about the 
mortgage would otherwise have made her, and the 
result of the watching was that she finally detected 
Tom in bringing Cold Molasses in from a ride. 

It was then the day before the county fair, and 
she had just sat down after spending the day over 
the stove, preparing: eatables for the party to eat 
while at the fair. She had seen Otis drive in, and 
put his horse up, and then go from the stable to the 
barn. She had sent Taggs for some water, and Taggs 
had not returned. Sally had stolen from the 
house not long before, and Miss Abby had no doubt 
whatever that she, too, was at the barn. 

Miss Abby was not one to linger long over a doubt. 
She threw her sun-bonnet on her head, and went 
directly to the barn, They were all there, and at the 


206 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


I 


moment Sally had her arms around the neck of Otis, 
and was telling him that he was a dear. 

Miss Abby stood watching them like a statue of 
Nemesis, though in fact there was nothing of 
Nemesis even in her thoughts. Tom was the first to 
see her, as he stood in the box-stall by the side of 
the colt, rubbing him down. He whistled. They 
all turned, and fell apart like a bundle of twigs 
untied. 

‘‘Don’t let me disturb yeou,” said Miss Abby, with 
delicate sarcasm. Then, with a sudden change, 
“Great suds an’ seeds! Didn’t I say that colt 
wasn’t to be rode any more?” 

“But, Miss Abby,” said Tom. 

“It won’t make any difference,” said Sally, try- 
ing to lighten Tom’s scolding. 

“Oh, it don’t,” cried Miss Abby. “Joel Bartlett!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Joel, coming in at that 
moment. 

“Didn’t I say that nobody wasn’t to ride that colt? 
and here has Tim been a-ridin’ him till the poor 
critter can’t stand hardly. Naow what I want to 
know is am I a-goin’ to have my way or not?” 

“ ’Tain’t my fault,” said Joel, sulkily. “If I say 
anything, then Sally shuts me up, and says Tim can 
ride if he wants to.” 

“Wa-al, I won’t have the critter killed before my 
eyes. Poor thing ! Only a little while ago he was 
as fat as butter. Look at him naow. Why he’s so 
poor yeou can caount his ribs. An’ why yeou, Tim, 
should want to treat him so bad I don’t see ; fer, 
my goodness ! yeou seem to be fond enough of him— 
never satisfied ’nless yeou’re cardin’ or manicurin’ 
him. But, great suds an’ seeds! I don’t care whether 
yeou like him or not, I won’t have him starved Joel 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


207 


Bartlett, I want yeou to see that that colt’s turned 
out in the pasture this very night, an’ there he stays 
till he’s fit to look at again. So there !” 

‘'But, Miss Abby,” cried Tom, “we want him to 
take us to the county fair to-morrow.” 

“Take Dan.” 

“He’s sprung a tendon, and can’t walk hardly.” 

“Take Sal, then. My stars! I ain’t a-goin’ to 
be dictated to by nobody.” 

“We’d never get there with Sal,” grumbled Tom. 

“Wa-al, I don’t know as I care much if we don’t. 
But this I do know, that colt goes to pasture this 
afternoon.” 

“Then we can’t go to the fair, that’s all,” said 
Tom. “Ah, Miss Abby,” coaxed Sally, who gen- 
erally could manage the good lady. 

“Then we’ll borrow Otis’ horse. We can have 
yeour horse, can’t we, Otis?” said Miss Abby. 

“Why, certainly ” began Otis, but he got no 

further, for all of a sudden there came a hail of 
rakes and pitchforks on the barn floor, which 
drowned not only his words but his ideas for a 
moment. 

Then, before he could begin again, and while Miss 
Abby was ascertaining the cause of the downfall, 
Sally and Taggs got at his ear, and whispered such 
things into it that when Miss Abby turned to him he 
drawled out : 

“Why, yepu see, Miss Abby, I’d let yeou have my 
horse ” 

“That’s all I want to know,” interrupted Miss 
Abby, making no doubt that he was saying yes in a 
roundabout way. 

“Only I can’t,” shouted Otis, emphatically. 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


“What?’’ exclaimed Miss Abby, as if she could 
not believe her ears. 

“I’m sorry to say my horse is engaged,” repeated 
Otis, doggedly. 

Then Miss Abby put her apron to her eyes, as 
if to cry; but suddenly changing her mind, just as 
everybody was making ready to console her, she 
turned first upon Taggs, and put a flea in her ear, as 
the saying is, and then one in Tom’s, and then one 
in Sally’s, and lastly one in Otis’. 

They fled, one and all, leaving the angry spinster 
in possession of the field, but truly with a sore heart, 
for it seemed to her, then, as if her very best friends 
had deserted her. 

After they were gone she did what she would not 
do when they were there. She put her face in her 
apron, and let the slow tears trickle down her 
cheeks. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MORTGAGE OR MARRIAGE ONCE MORE. 

The prospect of losing her farm bore harder on 
Miss Abby than even Sally could guess, for there 
was something heroic at the bottom of the nature 
of the Xew England spinster, and she would not 
carry more of her sorrow than she could help in her 
face to distress those who were dependent upon her. 
For that was where the sharpest sting was-^that 
not only herself, but those others, would have to 
suffer. 

She was thinking of this at that moment, and 
wondering for the thousandth time if there was 
no way out of the difficulty, 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


209 


‘^Good-afternoon, Miss Abby!’^ 

Miss Abby hastily dried her tears and looked up. 
There stood Solon Hammerhead, whittling a stick 
and looking around the barn with an air in which it 
seemed to Miss Abby there was already a sense 
of proprietorship. 

“Couldn’t I have been spared this?” she mur- 
mured to herself, with a groan. 

“Don’t seem to feel very peart. Miss Abby,” said 
Hammerhead, after a moment of silence. 

“Ho,” answered she, shortly. 

“To-morrer’s fair-day,” said Solon. 

“Yes.” 

“And my note falls due.” 

“Wa-al?” 

“Wa-al, I s’pose yeou’re ready to meet it, with 
interest.” 

“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Miss Abby, 
starting up wrathfully. “Is that what yeou came 
over here to say ? Solon Hammerhead, yeou’ve done 
nothin’ but snoop around here fer the last six 
months, jest as if yeou was afraid the farm’d run 
away. I’ve stood it jest as long as I’m goin’ to, an’ 
I want yeou to understand it, too. This farm’s 
mine, naow, anyhow ; an’ there’s jest one thing I 
don’t want on it, an’ that thing is yeou, Solon Ham- 
merhead. Yeou can walk yeourself off hum, an’ not 
come back, here again till the law gives yeou the 
right, if it ever does. My land! yeou’ve nigh 
abaout set me crazy with yeour nosin’ and crawlin’, 
an’ I invite yeou to make yeourself scarce on this 
farm.” 

“All right,” gasped the insulted Hammerhead; 
“yeou’ll pay fer this, yeou’ll pay fer it!” 

“Like’s not I will,” retorted Miss Abby. 


210 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


‘‘And yeou’ll pay me my money, or g^ive me the 
farm, too,” went on Hammerhead, with a slap of 
one hand into the other. 

“Wait till the day comes,” said Miss Abby, “an’ 
I’ll pay yeou the money or get off the farm. All 
I want,” and she choked a little, “is time enough to 
get my things together.” 

“Yeour things!” screamed Hammerhead. “What 
things? Yeou shan’t touch a thing on this place — 
not a pin ! By the terms of the mortgage every- 
thing on it’s mine. Don’t yeou so much as take a 
pin off — not a pin !” 

“Why, good land! yeou don’t mean to say ” 

“I mean to say the mortgage covers everything.” 

This was so overwhelming that Miss Abby forgot 
her anger at him, and fairly broke down. 

“Not everything, Solon?” 

“Everything, to the clothes on your back,” said 
Solon, exaggerating just a little for the sake of effect. 
“But naow look here. Miss Abby, what’s the use o’ 
yeou holdin ’aout? Jest say the word, an’ there’ll 
be no more talk o’ mortgage. Be Mrs. Hammer- 
head, an’ ” 

“Not if I have to beg through the village,” said 
she. “Not if I have to die in the ditch, Solon Ham- 
merhead. Naow yeou git off this place, or I’ll call 
the men an’ have them kick yeou off, or somethin’.” 

She looked so very much like doing it without 
waiting for the men to come, that Solon took counsel 
of his fears, and shuffled off, leaving Miss Abby to 
sit down on a corn basket, and declare herself the 
most miserable of women. 

But she was not to remain alone with her grief. 
Her friends were not nearly as thoughtless of her as 
she might think. Tom and Sally, with the co-oper- 


FHE COUNTY FAIB, 


211 


ation of Otis, had arranged with the neighbors for a 
husking-bee, and as she sat there forlorn, and be- 
lieving herself forgotten, the whole party arrived 
together, and, headed by Taggs, trooped noisily to 
the barn. 

Miss Abby heard the noise, and looked out to see 
the cause. She knew in a moment what it meant, 
and, hospitable as she was, could not help wishing 
the neighbors in Jericho rather than there at that 
moment. She put the best face she could on it, 
however, and greeted the hilarious party with as 
much warmth as she could command. 

“Good land! Haow can we feed them?’’ she 
whispered to Sally. 

“They’ve brought their own vittles,” said Sally. 

Everybody knew Miss Abby’s troubles, and there 
was a determination on the part of the visitors to 
make her forget them for a few hours at least. One 
of them called out to Otis to make a start, and he 
did by plunging into the sport with a wild reckless- 
ness that gave a tone to the whole affair. 

He caught up a red ear and whisked the husk off 
in a jiffy. Everybody knows the privilege of the 
finder of a red ear — to present it to whomever he 
pleases, and demand a kiss in payment. 

There was a shout when Otis held up his red ear. 
The girls giggled, and Otis turned fiery red; but he 
had made up his mind to it, and, without a visible 
tremor, he threw the ear into Miss Abby’s lap, and 
the next moment had stolen the lawful kiss. 

Miss Abby had waited fourteen years for that. 
She turned red, and bridled, and tried to say 
“pshaw!” but she was mightily pleased, and pres- 
ently had forgotten there was any such person as 
Hammerhead in the world. 


212 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


There were no end of red ears in that lot of corn, 
and the young people enjoyed the husking im- 
mensely. All but Sally, who, watching covertly, 
saw Joel take up and cast scornfully aside several 
red ears. However, it was some comfort that he did 
not use the red ears at all, since he would not give 
them to her. 

While the husking was going on the musicians 
drew out their instruments and began to play. 
Then there was singing by some of the members of 
the choir ; and after that Taggs was called on for 
one of her New York songs, and she, nothing loath, 
gave them one she had heard at some temple of 
amusement on her beloved Bowery, and, what was 
more, accompanied it with a dance, which made 
those country folk stare in wonder. 

Then some one, who had grown tired of husking, 
or who thought enough com had been husked for the 
trouble they had given, proposed a country reel. 
Miss Abby suggested that there might be sonie who 
didn’t believe in dancing; but they all protested 
that they did, and so the double line was formed. 

Otis danced with Miss Abby, of course, and no one 
of the spectators was ever able to decide which per- 
formed the most wonderful evolutions ; for even at 
the last, when Miss Abby stepped on an ear of corn 
and immediately thereafter sat down on the floor 
with startling emphasis, Otis followed her example, 
and sat staring into her eyes. 

Of course Miss Abby scolded him for his awk- 
wardness, but it was done graciously after all, and 
Otis was strangely gay. Miss Abby noticed that. 
She could not help it, for Otis was not usually 
hilarious, and any change was naturally noticeable. 
Miss Abby indeed was inclined to think that he was 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


213 


rather more daring than he had been for fourteen 
years, and it gave her a very queer feeling. 

Sally showed a surprising knowledge of human 
nature at this time. She approached Miss Abby, 
and whispered, coaxingly: 

‘‘We are going to the fair, ain’t we?” 

To which Miss Abby’s beatific smile was sufficient 
answer. 

“And, Miss Abby, won’t yeou tell Joel not to put 
Cold Molasses out to pasture? We want to take him 
to the fair to-morrow. Ah, won’t yeou. Miss 
Abby?” 

“Fer the land’s sake! yes, child, yes, if yeou 
want me to.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A FEW SURPRISES. 

The morning of Fair Day dawned bright and 
pleasantly warm, and Tom, who had risen at the 
first streaks of daylight and gone out to Cold Mo- 
lasses, rubbed his hands, partly with joy at so fine a 
day, and partly with nervousness as to the result of 
all his planning. 

Now that the day had come, something of his con- 
fidence was gone, though he kept telling himself 
that he was sure the colt was better than anything 
on the track, and the best thing he had ever ridden. 

Still he could not keep from his mind the thought 
of the many sure winners he had seen beaten, and 
with nervous anxiety he felt the colt’s feet and legs, 
looked in his eye, smoothed his coat, and judged as 
well as he could by all external evidences of the con- 
dition of the’ colt. 


214 


TEE COUNTY FAIR. 


He could see nothing out of the way. The colt 
seemed in the very pink of condition, and moved 
when he was taken out for a walk as if he was all 
fire and muscle. Then Tom bemoaned his fate in 
having to drag the wagon and its load all the way to 
the fair. 

However, it had to be done, and there was no help 
for it, so the only thing was to take care that he was 
not allowed to overexert himself. It was a good 
thing that Miss Abby was for having everything as 
easy as possible for the colt. 

In the presence of Taggs and Sally, who had also 
begun to have fears as the time of trial drew near, 
Tim was a living example of confidence and irrita- 
bility. He declared there was no doubt of the re- 
sult, but he was dreadfully cross at everything 
either said to him. 

Joel, Sally, Taggs, and Tom were to be taken by 
Cold Molasses, and Miss Abby was to go in the 
buggy with Otis. 

Never in all the time Miss Abby had known him 
had Otis appeared so arrayed as he was that morn- 
ing when he drove into the gate for her. She 
blushed as she noted it, for she could not help feel- 
ing that it was a compliment to her. 

Another thing almost as noticeable in Otis as his 
clothing was his pallor and nervousness. All the 
hilarity of the day before was gone, and he was 
more chary of speech than ever. If he spoke to Miss 
Abby at all on the way over, it was only in answer 
to her questions. But she was happy, and when she 
was happy she could talk enough for two, and she 
did. 

When the other party was ready to start, Joel 
could not be found. Sally was yery anxious, but 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


215 


she would not hunt for him. Tag^s, with a human- 
ity that did her credit, hunted for Sally. But Joel 
was not to be found. 

His room showed that he had put on his best 
clothes, but the man himself was nowhere to be 
found. Tom grew impatient, and insisted that they 
should be off. Sally wiped a tear away, and con- 
sented. 

They jogged along very quietly to the fair, and 
reached there long after Miss Abhy and her escort, 
who were both waiting anxiously for them to arrive. 

“ Where’s Joel?” demanded Miss Abby, the first 
thing. 

‘‘Couldn’t find him,” answered Tom. 

“Did yeou hunt fer him?” 

“Of course we did. Don’t you see how late we 
are?” said Tom, with a sly wink at Sally and Taggs. 

“Now remember,” said Otis, with a ghastly at- 
tempt at gallantry, “nobody’s to spend any money 
here to-day but me.” 

“Fer the land’s sake!” said Miss Abby, with a 
conscious giggle, and coyly squeezing his arm. 

“Wait here for me,” said Tom, as he helped Sally 
and Taggs out. 

He drove off to put the colt in a safe place where he 
could rub him down and do all those little things 
the jockey has learned are restful to a horse. He 
left the w^agon and harness in one place, and then 
led the colt to where the stables assigned to the en- 
tered horses were. There he rubbed him down and 
otherwise attended to him, and then returned to find 
his party. 

He found Sally standing apart with Otis, talking 
to him very earnestly, and he joined them and at 


216 


THE COUNTY TAIR. 


once began the advocacy of something which Sally 
was urging Otis to do. 

Miss Abby had not noticed this secret conference, 
and was staring with all her eyes at the picture of a 
double-headed woman on a side-show canvas, when 
she became aware of the presence of Joel, looking 
the very picture of melancholy. 

‘’Why, Joel, where was yeou?” she cried. 

“I came on in father’s wagon.” 

“Got left, did yeou?” asked Miss Abby. 

“No, Miss Abby, I didn’t,” he answered, gloomily. 
“I wasn’t goin’ to ride where I wasn’t wanted, an’ 
so I went on home.” 

“What d’yeou mean?” demanded Miss Abby. 

“What do I mean?” he repeated. “Why, Miss 
Abby, haven’t yeou any eyes? Can’t yeou see haow 
Sally’s goin’ on? Look at her naow.” 

Miss Abby followed the direction of the young 
man’s heavy eyes, and saw Sally talking with great 
earnestness to Otis and Tom. 

“Wa-al?” she demanded. 

“Well, can’t yeou see?” he asked. 

“No, I don’t see nothin’, Joel. I guess yeou’re 
foolish.” 

And she looked reprovingly at him over her 
glasses. 

Just then Otis reluctantly left Sally and Tom, and 
went over to Miss Abby. 

Joel drew sullenly away. 

“Miss Abby,” said Otis. 

“Wa-al, Otis?” she answered, benignly. 

“Why — er, why — er ” 

“Yes, Otis.” 

Otis drew out his handkerchief, and began to mop 
his face and neck, then he suddenly jammed it into 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


217 


his pocket, and addressed her as if this time he 
would say what was on his mind. 

‘‘Miss Abby, why, Sally an’ me, we’ve been 
a-talkin’, an’— an’— we’ve got it all fixed, we have. 
That is — that is — Sally thinks — why, the hull on it 
is, I’m goin’ to git a marriage license. Sally an’ 
me’s got it all fixed.” 

“Sally an’ yeou— got it all fixed!” gasped Miss 
Abby. Then hysterically, “All right— go on, go on 
—get it.” 

“Bein’ right here by the court-house,” said Otis. 

“Get it, get it, ’’said Miss Abby, waving him off 
hysterically. 

So he ran off as if glad to have done it at last, and 
Miss Abby turned wildly to Joel, saying: 

“Did yeou hear him, Joel? Did yeou hear him? 
Yeou was right. Oh, Sally, Sally! How could 
yeou? An’ I thought all the time he was courtin’ 
me. I’m a darned old fool, that’s what I am.” 

“Otis and Sally!” gasped Joel in his turn. “Are 
yeou sure. Miss Abby? I thought it was ” 

“Otis. He jest told me so.” 

Joel turned about with a scowl of anguish, thrust- 
ing his hands deep into his pockets as he did so, pre- 
sumably to prevent them doing some injury to the 
destroyer of his happiness. A letter reposing quietly 
in his pocket reminded him of itself, and he gloom- 
ily took it out, and handed it to Miss Abby. 

“I found it in the post-office for yeou,” he said. 

If letters had been more frequent things with Miss 
Abby she might have put that one in her pocket till 
her grief had subsided, but being so scarce she 
naturally looked it all over curiously, and then 
opened it. 


218 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


It was very short, but it excited her greatly, and 
when she had read it she cried out : 

^'Where’s Taggs? Dear little Taggs ! All I have 
left to love naow ! Where is she, Joel?’’ 

“Over there, looking at the man spin plates on a 
board. Shall I bring her here for yeou?” 

Even Joel was curious. Miss Abby nodded ex- 
citedly, and Joel ran over to Taggs, and disen- 
gae^ed her attention from the plate-spinner. 

“Taggs!” exclaimed Miss Abby, taking the as- 
tonished child in her arms and hugging her vigor- 
ously, “yeou are my own Abby. Taggs, yeou are 
— I am yeour mother — no, yeour mother was my — I 
am yeour — oh, Taggs ! yeour mother was my sister, 
my dear Abby, who was lost to me I I knowed it all 
the time, Taggs, I knowed it all the time. My 
heart did, anyhow. Oh, Taggs!” 

“I’m the little baby that was lost?” demanded 
Taggs, with an eager look. 

“Yes, my little Abby.” 

“Then it was for me you spent all that money 
and had to mortgage the farm?” 

“Never mind that, Taggs; I’ve got yeou.” 

“Yes, you’ve got me, and you haven’t lost the 
farm yet. Miss Abby— you’re Aunt Abby now, ain’t 
YOU? Aunt Abby. And don’t fret your gizzard— 
yourself, I mean — about the money. Maybe ’tain’t 
lost yet. You can’t tell.” 

“Fer the land’s sake! what’s the child talking 
abaout? My little Abby ! Bless her heart ! I felt all 
the time that yeou was more to me than a stranger. 
Joel, Taggs ain’t Taggs no more. She’s Sister 
’Mandy’s baby. Here’s the blessed letter from Mrs. 
Wilson at the Mission, tollin’ the hull story. Bless 
her heart!” 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


219 


guess he’s got the marriage license,” was Joel’s 
enigmatical answer. 

“Who has?” demanded Miss Abby, sharply. 

“Otis. There he comes naow.’^ 

Miss Abby looked, and there was Otis fluttering a 
paper in his hand, and looking as happy as a king 
and rather more sheepish. Sally and Tom were 
with him, and shaking his hands with great glee as 
they walked along. 

“Here it is. Miss Abby,” said Otis, holding the 
paper toward her. 

“Wa-al, I hope yeou’il be happy,” said Miss Abby. 
with dignity, for she would not let the man see how 
much disturbed she was. 

“Great Gosh! we oughter be,” said Otis. 

“I’m sure I hope yeou will be; though I must say 
I don’t like marriages where there’s sich a differ- 
ence in the ages.” 

“Why, naow see here. Miss Abby, what are yeou 
talkin’ about? There ain’t sich a sight o’ difference 
in our ages. Why, I thought yeou’d— why, what is 
the manner, anyhow?” 

“Matter? No great difference in ages! Yeou’re 
crazy, Otis Tucker; there’s thirty years if there’s a 
day.” 

“Thirty years. Miss Abby? Why, there ain’t five. 
Great Jehoshaphat ! What is the matter?” 

“Five year between yeou an’ Sally! Why, Otis 
Tucker ” 

“Naow, who’s a-sayin’ anything abaout Sally? 
I’m talkin ’abaout yeou!” 

“Me ! Then — then — the — the — oh ! Talkin’ 
abaout me! Then, why didn’t you say so? Good 
land! it’s enough to drive one stark, starin’ mad!” 


220 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


did say so,” replied Otis, indignantly. ‘^Didn’t 
I go get the license fer yeou an* me?” 

. ‘Yes, yes, of course,” said Miss Abby. “Oh, Otis, 
IVe found Sister 'Mandy's baby! It’s Taggs!” 

It was a timely diversion for Miss Abby, and dur- 
ing the excitement of questioning Taggs, and kiss- 
ing her, and reading the letter, the good lady had 
time to recover, and to treat Otis as a man who is so 
soon to be one’s husband should be treated. 

“There goes the bell,” said Taggs, suddenly. 

“Good land! What bell?” demanded Miss Abby. 

“For the races,” said Taggs, breaking away, and 
running toward the grand stand, for which she 
held a ticket, bought for her by Tom. 

Miss Abby would have gone after her to bring her 
back, but, before she knew it, she was being coaxed 
into going herself. 

“Ah, do come. Miss Abby!” said Sally. “Yeou 
ask her to come, Otis. Tim’s going to ride.” 

‘ ‘Tim ! Why don’t yeou call him by his right name, 
Tom? Tim’s goin’ to ride. Great suds and seeds! 
I should think he’d had enough o’ that. Joel, did 
yeou know that Tim was Sallie’s brother, Tom? No 
sense in keepin’ it any longer. Everybody knows it. 
Come along, then. I’ll go this once. ” 

Sally looked shyly at Joel. He looked beseechingly 
at her. She looked indignant. He looked heart- 
broken. She looked pitiful. He looked questioning. 
She let her eyes fall, and smiled coyly. He was by 
her side, whispering in her ear eagerly. Then 
they followed slowly after the others. 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


221 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE RACE FOR THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS. 

The racing had begun, but it was not yet time for 
Tom to appear. His race did not come off for an 
hour yet. Meanwhile his friends stood in the grand 
stand inclosure, waiting for him, and seeing little to 
interest them in the other races, on the result of any 
one of which there might have been as much at 
stake for some one else as they had on the one partic- 
ular race for which they waited. 

Tim stood in the stable with his colt, talking to 
him and stroking him, begging him to win, and al- 
most crying over him. It vras hard to keep up his 
confidence at this last moment, and it needed all his 
previous conviction to keep him in anything like 
courage. 

He had borrowed a suit of breeches, and colors, 
and a saddle, from an old acquaintance whom he had 
found there. He could always be sure of finding 
somebody he knew on any race-course in the 
country. 

The time had come for him. The weighing-in bell 
had sounded. Tom threw his arms around the neck 
of the colt, and half-sobbed : 

“Now, old man, the time has come to try it on. If 
you win youTl save Miss Abby her farm. If you 
don’t you’ll break mv heart.” 

He took his saddle on his arm, weighed in, drew 
his number, and went back to saddle the colt. 

When he mounted he was trembling so that he 
could hardly keep his foot in the stirrup, and he felt 
as if he would never be able to keep his seat. He 


222 


THE COUNTY FAIK 


rode out upon the course, however, and it seemed as 
if the very touch of the colt’s hoofs on the sod put 
courage in his heart and steel in his muscles. 

He whispered to the colt, and swept at an easy 
gallop past the grand stand, looking eagerly for his 
friends. He saw Taggs perched up as high as she 
could get, devouring him and the colt with her eyes. 

‘There he goes!” she yelled, and pointed him out 
to Miss Abby. 

“What horse is that?” demanded Miss Abby, 
sharply. 

“Cold Molasses,” answered Taggs, gleefully. 

“Great suds an’ seeds!” exclaimed the spinster, 

“if I don’t Did yeou all know he was goin’ to 

do this?” and she glared at them sternly. 

“Never mind now, Miss Abby,” said Sally, “but 
pray for Tommy to win.” 

“Pray on a race-course! My stars! If I never 
prayed I wouldn’t do it here. But, since the boy’s 
ridin’ Cold MDlasses, I do hope he’ll win.” 

And Miss Abby, who was in a frame of mind to 
be easily pleased, kept her eye on Tom’s colors as 
eagerly as Taggs herself. 

The colt made the round of the track with such a 
springy motion that Tom knew he was going to do 
his best then, and that it would depend very much 
on him whether or not the colt won. 

One by one the other horses came around, and 
Tom eyed them as their riders did his colt, and it is 
likely enough that each thought he had the winning 
mount. But it was little likely that any of them 
was riding for the stake that Tom was, and he felt 
that he would count for a great deal, and that he 
could make a poor horse win when there was so 
much depending upon it. 


THE COUNTY FAIR, 


223 


But after all as he looked the horses over, he felt 
certain that there was but one of them he had any 
need to really fear. It was a bright bay, and Tom 
noticed that he kept his ears constantly twitching, 
and that he showed a great deal of the white of his 
eye when he glanced around. 

‘‘He’s nervous,” said Tom to himself, and he 
watched to see how he could put that knowledge to 
an account. 

When the horses all came up to the post to start, 
Tom, who had his colt under perfect control, pre- 
tended that he could not bring him into line. That 
made a false start, and Tom saw the bay plunging 
and curveting like a circus horse. 

Somebody else made a false start next time and 
the bay, quite out of his head with nervousness, 
thrust his head out and went a quarter of a mile be- 
fore he could be pulled up. 

Then the rider of the bay rode up to the starter 
and said that he was not to consider him at all ; for 
the lad saw that he was being played on by the 
others and preferred taking the risk of a bad start to 
running half way over the course two or three times. 

This time the bay brought up the rear, and Tom, 
seeing that it was likely to be a start this time, 
forged up to the front, and led the crowd as the flag 
dropped. 

He had no intention of making the pace, so, as 
some of the more eager closed up on him he made 
no effort to keep his position, and presently was in 
third place, and then in fourth. 

“He’s losing! he’s losing!” groaned Sally. 

“Don’t you fret,” said Taggs. “He’s a daisy, he 
is ! He knows what he’s about, and don’t you for- 
get it.” 


224 


THE COUNTY FAlll 


‘^Oh, Joel, if he shouldn’t win!” said Sally to him, 
for she had disclosed to him the secret they had all 
been nursing for so long. 

But there was no chance of any one knowing yet 
what would happen. Cold Molasses was going 
easily ; but so was the bay, which had gradually 
forged ahead until it was close beside our colt. 

Tom did not like the way it was going, nor did he 
like to be such near neighbors with his most dan- 
gerous competitor ; but eveiy time he tried to shake 
him off the other jockey grinned and clung to his 
place. 

They rounded the half mile all in a bunch, the 
leaders about three lengths ahead, and the others in 
a heap behind. After the half mile the leaders 
began to fall back, and a white-faced chestnut shot 
out of the bunch and took the lead, making the pace 
so hot that Tom looked aside at the bay to see how 
he was taking it. 

He was going as steadily as a church, his ears 
pricked forward, and his tail as quiet as if he were 
walking in the paddock. 

The leaders were behind now, and the bunch be- 
gan to string out. The chestnut was two lengths in 
the lead, and making a grand show, but Tom saw 
that he was soon to drop behind, too. 

Could he shake off the bay.^ They were swinging 
around to the three-quarter post now, and in a mo- 
ment the Avork must be done. 

“Hist, boy!” said Tom, softly. 

The colb sprang easily forward, and in three 
strides his nose was at the tail of the chestnut. 

Tom looked around. The bay was right on his 
flank. 

They swept around and past the three-quarter 


THE COUNTY FAIB. 


225 


post. The chestnut fell behind. Cold Molasses was 
leading, the bay brea^thing on Tom’s thigh with no 
sign of giving out. 

Tom looked around, and saw a grin on the face of 
the jockey, and knew then that he must ride for all 
he was worth. 

They were on the home-stretch. At the end of it 
Tom saw Miss Abby’s farm. By his side he seemed 
to see Solon Hammerhead. 

The bay crept up and up, until he was head-and- 
head with Cold Molasses. 

“Hi, boy, hi I” said Tom, suddenly dropping into 
the saddle, and riding as if he were a part of the 
horse. 

The colt sprang forward nobly, and tried to shake 
off the bay, but the bay responded to a word from 
his rider, and with a thud, thud, clatter, clatter, the 
two rushed down the home-stretch, eyes starting 
and nostrils distended and red. 

“How, Tom, now! How, Cold Molasses!” 

Hoble fellow! He seemed to comprehend, for he 
put his whole soul into the race, and strained every 
muscle. 

Who would win? 

Taggs leaned over the picket fence, and with a 
white face and staring eyes watched the efforts of 
the colt to rid himself of the bay. 

Would he never do it? Yes, yes, he was creeping 
ahead, and the rider of the bay was whipping now 
— whipping like mad. 

Tom never raised his whip, but only whispered to 
the colt. 

Whispered? He had no need to whisper. Did not 
the colt know what was at stake, think you? Why 


226 


THE COUNTr FA12t. 


else would he have striven till it seemed to him that 
he would die before he would let the bay pass him. 

On, on, good colt ! It is Miss Abby’s farm you are 
running for ! The farm where you were born, and 
where your mother waits you now to know how you 
have carried yourself this day. 

Ah, see that ! He is a nose in advance — a head ! 

Under the line with his brave little rider, and the 
farm is saved ! 

They took Tom off his horse, and he was crying. 
They weighed him, and he fell into Sally’s arms, say- 
ing: 

“Hammerhead don’t get that farm.” 

“I wouldn’t a had that colt run like that for all 
the medals in creation!” said Miss Abby. 

“Medals!” cried Taggs. “Well, you can just bet 
yer sweet life you don’t get no medals, but a cold 
three thousand.” 

“What?” said Miss Abby. 

“Well, I should smile! Old Hammerhead don’t 
take no farm this trip, you bet!” 

“What’s that?” said Miss Abby, tottering a little. 

Otis had presence of mind enough to catch her. 

“It’s so. Miss Abby,” said Sally. “The prize is 
three thousand dollars.” 

“And Tom’s been puttin’ up this iob for months,” 
said Taggs. 

“Bless his heart!” said Miss Abby, “and I jawin’ 
of him all the time.” Then a new idea struck her, 
and, wiping away a tear that stood in her eye, she 
turned to Otis, and said, sweetly, “Otis, I’m glad 
yeou won’t have to take a penniless bride.” 

Otis blushed and squirmed, but it is not recorded 
that he made any answer. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


227 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Hammerhead was one of the kind who did not go 
to county fairs, and so he knew nothing of the three 
thousand dollar prize until he went to put his mort- 
gage in the hands of the sheriff for foreclosure. 

Then he was referred to Miss Abby’s lawyer, who 
would not pay a cent until he had done everything 
the law allowed him to do to worry and harass the 
wretched miser, who finally was fain to reduce his 
claim by several hundred dollars rather than have 
the matter taken into the courts, where his char- 
acter and extortionate habits would be aired. 

That was an end of him so far as Miss Abby’s life 
was concerned, for if he had ever had the hardihood 
to intrude himself on Rock-bottom Farm he would 
have met with a reception from which he would not 
soon have recovered. And he knew it. 

Cold Molasses had a triumphal drive home that 
night after saving Miss Abby’s farm, and if any- 
thing could have been done to make him more com- 
fortable than he already was in the stable, it would 
have been done by his proud and grateful mistress. 

Miss Abby could not be reconciled to his lean con- 
dition, however, and nothing Tom could say would 
induce her to believe that the colt was better off in 
that state than when as fat as he used to be. Miss 
Abby would have him fed until he was fat ; and, so, 
as he had done the deed of his life-time, Tom fed him 
as she said, and never trained him again until he 


228 


THE COUNTY tAIR. 


was his property, which was on Miss Abby’s wed- 
ding-day. 

Oh, yes, there was a wedding, and a great' one it 
was, too. Everybody was there ; and if everybody 
did not have a good time it was not the fault of Tom 
and Taggs, Sally and Joel, for these four, each in 
their own way, were so happy that happiness was 
shed on every side. 

Joel and Sally were not long in following the ex- 
ample of the older couple, and were married in their 
turn. There was room enough for them on the farm, 
and so they took up their abode there, and as the 
years went by they gave Miss Abby the opportunity 
to try her hand at bringing up some more children. 

As for Taggs and Tom— what could they do but 
get married, too ; but that was a long while after 
Tom was an uncle. 

It is worth while telling what became of the 
money left after paying off the mortgage. There 
was about fifteen hundred dollars of it, and Miss 
Abby, after consulting Otis about it — in other words, 
telling him what she was going to do — had it in- 
vested for Tom, never telling him a word of it till 
the day he was married, when she presented him 
with a well-stocked farm and told him how it was 
bought. 

Tom keeps nothing but blooded stock on his farm, 
and some of the best horses in the country saw the 
light of day in his stables. 

Once in a very great while, under severe provo- 
cation of joy, Taggs will revert to some of the lan- 
guage of her early youth, but, as a rule, she is as 
staid and sedate as any young wife in Vermont. 
[the end.] 


THE CLYDE STEAMSHIP CO., 

“ New York, Charleston, and Florida Lines.” 

Tri-weekly Line. 

For Charleston, S. C., 

The South and Southwest, 
Jacksonville, Fla., 

and all Florida Points. 



Tire only Line between ]Vew "Vorlr and Jacksonville, Fla., 
without change, making close connection at Jacksonville with the Florida 
Central anil Peninsular R. R.; Jaclcsonville, Tampa and Key West Railway; 
and all Railroads, and also with the De Bary Line, Beach & Miller, and all 
Steamboat Lines on the St. Johns River. 

The fleet is composed of the following elegant steel and iron steamers : 
“IROQUOIS,” Cnpt. E. Kemble, 

“ CHEKOKEE,” Capt. H. A. Kearse, 

“SEJMITVOLE,” Capt. C. Elatt, 
“YEMIASSEE,” Capt. Jos. McKee, 

“EEL AWAKE,” Capt. I. IC. Chicliester, 
one of which is appointed to sail from Eier Q9, East Kiver, (foot 
of Roosevelt St.) TST.Y., Mondays, 'Wednesdays and Fridays 
at 3 i>.in. 

Passenger accommodations unsurpassed, steamers being supplied with 
all modern improvements, steam steering gear, electric lights, electric 
bells, baths, etc. 

The cuisine on the steamers of the “Clyde Line” is unexcelled by 
any other Line, the table being supplied with the best that Northern and 
Soiithern markets atford. 

r*r further iuforma/tion apply to 

THEO. G. EGEE, T. M., 6 Bowling Green, N. ¥. 

WM. P. CLYDE & GO., Gen’l Agents, 

12 Sonth Wharves, 5 Bowlin* Green, 

Philadelphia, Pa, New York. 


THE 

MERRY-MAKER 

ALMANAC. 


MAILED FREE TO AHY ADDRESS. 


Very Comic-Full of Pictures. 


Will Drive the Blues out of a Bag 
of Indigo. 


Be sure to send for this. Write your 
name on a postal card and mail tlie same 
to ns, and receive this Almanac FREE. 
Address, 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street, New York, 


The Select Series. 

A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION 

DEVOTED TO SOOD BEADM HI AMEBIGAH ncnOH. 

jRrice, S3 Cents Each. 

iFXJijiXj-sr xxjXjX7s»a?x^^a7:E3x>. 

No. 28 -A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 27-WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

No. 26— FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage. 

No. 25- THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvaiius Cobb, Jr. 

No. 24— THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 23-DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

No. 22-A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 21-THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta. 

No. 20— INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner. 

No. 19— A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

No. 18— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McYeigh MiUer. 

No. 17— THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by May Agjies Fleming. 

No. 14-FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford. 

No. 13 -THE BRIDE ELECT, by Annie Ashmore. 

No. 12-THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 11— BADLY MATCHED, by Helen Corwin Pierce. 

No. 10— OCTAVIA’S PRIDE, by Charles T. Manuel’S. , 

No. 9-THE WIDOW’S WAGER, by Rose Ashleigh. 

No. 8— WILL SHE WIN 2 by Emma Garrison Jones. 

No. 7— GRATIA’S TRIALS, by Lucy Randall Comfort. 

No. 6-A STORMY WEDDING, by Mary E. Bryan. 

No. 5 -BRUNETTE AND BLONDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh 
Miller. 

No. 4— BONNIE JEAN, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUins. 

No. 3— VELLA VERNELL, by Mrs. Sumner Hayden. 

No. 2 -A WEDDED WIDOW, by T. W. Hanshew. 

No. 1— THE SENATOR’S BRIDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh 
Miller. 

The above works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to 
any address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the 
publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

31 Rose Street, New York, 


P. O. Box 2734. 


THE LOG CABIN LIBRARY 


Xseiixed. I'li.-u.xrisci.A'V’. 


PRICE, 10 CENTS EACH. 


No. l.-THE WHITE CAPS, by Marline Manly. 

No. 2. -THE KEWANEE BANK ROBBERY, by J. E. Musick. 

No. 3.— SEVEN PICKED MEN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 4.— JESSE, THE OUTEAW, a story of the Janies Boys, by Captain 

Jake Shackelford. 

No. 5.-THE WHITE CAP DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 6.— CAPTAIN KATE, by Leander P. Richardson. 

No. 7.-THE PINERY DEN DETECTIVE, by Mark Merrick. Esq. 

No. 8.— BILIi TREDEGAR, a tale of the Moonshiners, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 9.— THE IRISH JUDAS; or, The Great Conspiracy Against Par* 
neil, by Clarence Clancool. 

No. lO.-TIIE GOLD-HUNTER DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. I l.-THE OKLAHOMA DETECTIVE, by Old Broadbrim. 

No. 12.-THE MINER DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 13.-HARRY LOVELL, THE GENTLEMAN RIDER, by Sherwood 

Stanley. 

No. 14.-DIAMOND DICK IN ARIZONA, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 15.- THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY, by Mark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 16.-THE JOHN.STOWN HERO, by Marline Manly. 

No. 17.— SILVER 3IASK, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 18.-THE OYSTER PIRATES, by EuRene T. Sawyer. 

No. 19.-LOUISVILLE LUKE, THE JOCKEY WONDER, by Jack Howard. 
No. 20.-GUISEPPE, THE WEASEL, by Eufjene T. Sawyer. 

No. 21. -CATTLE KATE, by Lieutenant Carlton. 

No. 22.-OLD MAN HOWE, by Wm. O. Stoddard. 

No. 23,-PHENOMENAL PAUL. THE WIZARD PITCHER OF THE 
LEAGUE, by John Warden. 

No. 24.-THE SHANGHAIER OF GREENWICH STREET, by Henry 
DeerinR. 

No. 25.-DARROW, THE FLOATING DETECTIVE, by Ned BuntUne. 

No. 26.-HUGO, THE FIGHTER, by William H. BushnelL 
No. 27.-JACK THE PEEPER, by Harry Temple. 

No. 28.-THE GREAT YACHT RACE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 29.-THE LIGHTS O’ GOTHA3T, by Ralph Royal. 

No. 30.-SHADOWED AND TRAPPED; or, Harry the Sport, by Ned 
Buntline. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 


P. 0. BOX 2734. 


31 ROSE STREET NEW YORK 


Do You Like Detective Stories ? 

You will find the Very Best, by Authors of First-class 
Ability, in the 

Secret Service Series, 

(S. S. S.) 

ISSXJEID lvi:01srTHX-.Y. 

This series is enjoying a larger sale than any similar series ever 
published. None but American authors are represented on our list, 
and the books are all copyrighted, and can be had only in the “Secret 
Service.” 

LATEST ISSUES-FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 25.-THE NAVAL DETECTIVE, by Ned Binitline. 

No. 24, -THE PRAIRIE DETECllVE, by Leander P. Richardson. 
No. 23-A MYSTERIOUS CASE, by K. F. HiU. 

No. 22-THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland. 

No. 21-THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY OF A MAOSTONE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 19-THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor. 

No. 18-A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter. 

No. 17 -THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter. 

No. 16-THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. Cobb. 
No. 15— TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor. 

No. 14— THE DETECTIVE’S CLEIV, by ^^Old Hutch.” 

No. 13— DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauffer. 

No. 12-THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11-THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 10-THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by Geo.^W. Goode. 
No. 9— OLD MORTALITY, by Young Baxter. 

No. 8— LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Captain James. 

No. 7— THE CHOSEN MAN, 

No. 6-OLD STONEWALL, 

No. 5-THE MASKED DETECTIVE, 

No 4-THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. HiU. 

No 3-VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by ^^Old Sleuth.” 
No 2-BRUCE ANGELO, by ‘'Old Sleuth.” 

No. 1-BRANT ADAMS, by “Old Sleuth.” 

IPric©, 25 Osnt-S J±j3.c1i. 

For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent by maU on receipt of 
t)ric6 by the publishers, 

^ STREET & SMITH, Hew York. 


BEN NAMED; 

OR, 

THE CHILDKEN OF FATE. 


By SYLVANUS COBB, Jr. 


Street& Smith’s Sea and Shore Series, No, 8. 


WHAT THE PHESS SAY OF IT. 

•‘Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvamis Cobb, wbicb recalls 
the delightlul stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural 
effects. Indeed, our old friend Harouii A1 Raschid figures prouiiuently in 
this work, and is closely identified with the hero and heroine— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiana. It is a romance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained plot.— Grand liajnds Democrat, Aug. 8. 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
jjiiot— Harrisburg Fatriot, July 2a. 

Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed ; or, The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., which is No. 8 of the Sea and Shoke 
Series. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Arabian 
Nights,” without their supernatural effects. The plot is ingenious and well 
sustained, and brings out a romance of imre love in a charming manner.— 
—iian Francisco Morning Call, July 21. 

“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., published in 
paper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way that all of 
Cobb’s stories are cl&y&r.— Indianapolis Ncivs, July 20. 

“Ben Hamed is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
mauj’ remarkable incidents. — Acton Star, July 21. 

A capital story of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
perusal of the “Arabian Nights,” is Sylvanus Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
“Ben Hamed ; or. The Children of Fate.” It is admirably told, full of in- 
terest, and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusal. — J/mdana 
Sun, Sept. 22. 

Street & Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamed; or, Tlie Children of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb. Jr. This is an 
Oriental romance, accentuated by a very strong and ingenious plot.— N l 
Paid Pioneer Press, July 21. 

Street & Smith, New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hamed,” an 
Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
the “Arabian Nights,”, without their supernatural effects.” — Cincinnati 
Enquirer. 

“Ben Hamed.” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, is published by 
Street <fe Smith, New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic romances, 
Haroun Al Raschid being a prominent figure. There is nothing strained or 
unnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recalling the stories of the “Arabian Nights,” 
without their supernatural Minneapolis Tribune. July 21.^ 


THE 

NUGGET LIBRARY. 


ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY. 


PRICE, 5 CENTS EACH, 


No. 1 — SMAET AXiECK ; or, A Crank’s Legacy. By Frank. 

No. 2— UNDER THE GULF ; or, The Strange Voyage of the 
Torpedo Boat. By Harry St. George. 

No. 3— BOUNCER BROWN ; or, He was Bound to Find His 
Father, By Commodore Ah-Look. 

No. 4-THE GAYEST BOY IN NEW YORK ; or, Adventures by 
Gaslight. By Dash Kingston. 

No. 5— NBIBLE NIP ; or, The Call Boy of the Olympic Theater. 
By John A. Mack. 

No. 6 — THE FLOATING ACADEMY ; or. Terrible Secrets of Dr. 

Switchem’s School-Ship. By Dash Dale. 

No. 7— THE CRIMSON TRAIL ; or, On Custer’s Last War-path. 
By Buffalo Bill. 


STREET & SMITH, Publisliers, 

P. O. Box 2734. 31 ROSE STREET, New York. 


SEA AND SHORE SERIES. 

Stories of Strange Adventures Afloat and Ashore. 


ISSUED MONTHLY. 


All Books in tMs Series are Fully Illustrated. 

The above-named series is issued in clear, large type, uniform in 
size with “The Select Series,” and will consist of the most thrilling 
and ingeniously constructed stories, by popular and experienced 
writers in the field of fiction. The following books arn now ready : 

Ne. 13.-THEIRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alexander 
Robertson, M.D, 

No. 12.— MEZZONI, THE BRIGAND, by Lieutenant Murray. 
No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alexander 
Robertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9-THE MAN IN BLUE, by Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8-BEN HAMED, by Sylyanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-A SERVANT OF SATAN. 

No. 6-THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 6 — THEODORA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. L-THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Win. 
Henry Peck. 

No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 2-THE SILVER SHIP, by Lewis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH MONTE CRISTO, by John Sherman. 


Frioe, Oents. 

For sale by all Booksellers and News agents, or will be sent, postage) 
free, to any address in the United^States or Canada, on receipt 6£ 
price, by the publishers, 

STKEET & SMITH, 

31 ROSE STREET, NEW TORK. 


P. 0. BOX, 2734. 


C1NCINNATI.HAMILTON&DAYTONR.R 

THE FINEST ON EARTH 


THE ONLY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 

mmm ihm otice 


WITH DINING- CAR 


BETWEEN 

CmCINNATI, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


THE FAVORITE LINE 

(lCIIIIIATItoST.LOniS, 

l^eokuk, Springfield, 

and JE*eoria, 


THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 
BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findiay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS and CANADA. 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati ana 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 

M, D. WOODFORD, Vice-Pres. E. 0. McCORMICK, Geu. Pass. Ait. 



/ 


« 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

STREET & SJIITH’S SELECT SERIES Sfo. 23. 


JE*rice, J2o Cents, 


Some Opinions of the Press, 

“ As the prohabillMes are remote of the play * The Old Homestead ’ being 
seen any where but in large cities it Is only fair that the story of the piec^ should 
be printed. LlUe most stories written from plays it contains a great deal wiiicli 
is not said or done on the boards, yet it is no more verbose than sucli a story 
slioukl be and it gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands niglitly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Uld Uy I’rime, Reuben, the mytliical Hill Jones, the slierliT and all the other char- 
acters are here, be.slde some new ones. It is to be lio.ued tnat the book will make 
a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play owners may teel encour- 
aged to let t heir works lie read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— A'. F. Ht'vaid, June 2d. 

Denman 'I'liompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerat d liome; of a grand old man. lionest and iilunt, uiio 
loves his honor as he loves Ids life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of t he deplorable condinjt of a w ayward son: a story of couiii ry Hie, love 
and jealousy, without an impure thought, and with tlie liealthy ilavur of the 
fields in every yhajiter. It is founded on Denman Thompsons drama of -The 
Uid iiomestead.’”— A'. Y. Pvt'^s, May 2t)Lh. 

“ Messrs. Street & Smith, publisiiers of the A'eto YorTc Weelcly, have brought 
otitln book-form the story of ‘The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Air. Denman Thompson, has met wUth such wondrous success. It will prolia- 
biy have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers in giving the 
drama this permanent ficthm form.”— A'. Y. Morning Juunuil, June 2 d. 

“ The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of ‘The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged Street & Smith, evidently with his perndssion, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set In the same scenes and including the s .me charac- 
ters and more too. i’he iiook is a fair match for the p'ay in the simple good taste 
and real at)ilir,v w ith w hich It is written. The publishers are Street A smith, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A'. Y. GraiJhiv, May ‘2‘j. 

“Denman i’liompson’s play, ‘The Ohl Homestead,’ is familiar, at f ast by rej., 
utaf ion, to every piay-goer In the country. Its truth to nature aial it.s simple 
pathos have bemi a.('lniirab!,y preserved in this story, which is fminded uiion It 
and follows Its Incidents closely. The re<iuirements of the stag make the action 
a little hurried at. times, but the scenes described are brougnt before the inlnd’s 
(*ye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in theiiiiic New Kng- 
land tow n is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the pla> can gt t an 
e.vcellent idea of wiiat it Is like rrimi the iiook. Doth are free from smii imeniaiiiy 
and .sen.satlon, and are remarkably healthy In tone.” Albany Ej-jiri'ss. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old lloincst.ead' has been put Into story-lorm at d Is is- 
sued iiy yr.reet & Smli h. The story will somew hat e.xiialn to those no have not 
seen It the great poimlatiiy ot the [)hiy. " — /irooklyn Times, June Sin. 

“i’lie.tutne of Di nm III Tiiotnpson's play, ‘Old Homestead,’ is world-wide, 
i’eiis ot thousands have enjoyed it. and ireipiently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
tlmv took In its representation, i’hls is the story told in narrative lOrm as well 
as It was toll! on the stage, :ind wilt be a treat to till, whether they have seen Hie 
play or not ” — Salional Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

“Here we Imve the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly iiastiires, the 
peaked roofs, the .school house, and the familiar faces of dear old yw anzey, and 
the story whkii, dram itlzcd. has packed the largest theiiterin .New Aork, and 
lias iteeii a success everyw here because of its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All t he Incidents which have held audiences spell-bound tire here re- 
coriled— the aifcusation of robbery directed tigalnst the innocent boy. Ids shame, 
and leaving home; the dear old Aunt i’llda, who has been courted lorihltry 
years bv the mendacious C’y Prime, who has never had the coura> to propose; 
the tall ot the country boy Into the temptai ions of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis to find him. The story embodies all 
that the play tells, and all that it suggests as well.”— A'anamv City JourruU, 
May 27 til. 



FOR THE 

F /\CE and MaNDS. 

“Paris Exposition, 
i88g. 

F^G&r*S obtained tlie only 
gold medal aAvanded solely 
fbn toilet SOTVd^ in com- 
petition with all the world. 

Highest possible distinction,” 
Sale TJiiivensal. 




^f'-^ ,' 


' ''^■" "-iSIL-V W' r^.:^. . •■ • - ■ ' • 

ini-.. • - >«'■•.. A* ••'■V ■ ' \ ■ 

''»«•* • * • • ^ • . * *^ ■< ( ' 


■V' , ■■ v ’ • ' ' ' 

"■• . i' ' -' 1 •- • t { ' * j' *> 

SsBrnSBl • ■ • •'■>,■. ‘ 


\ • 


.<’’X 


im 


M 

7 # 


. / 

' m 

■ 'J. 


'V\ 


• ... ^ ,fi: ^ • 

■ ■f ' ! 't ■'‘ '’•■■ 





-»-■ 




*» I 




m.t ' * .* \l 


v‘ •. 

fi'.' / '■ 


r 


I ‘ 


♦ « 


v: 




iSflwSi-Vr-- ■ Mlife ' ; 




,,, y ■.Avv-^V.irV 

r-^;.. .fv: .-' 





I 

t'.. 

-IN 



-;V« • 




T t 


IhbI.. ',^ 


f-i .• - 



/ * *' ’ * ♦ 

t ■ i 

^ : ■ :; 

\ 

*1 , r 

. W 



• f 








, t 


^ t 




s .' 

/:• .■ 


> ' 


it 


. *>v.. • \> . 

FW-’' •'•V- ''•“- ' *' '•' I . 

»' f‘ - y- ' - ,v I ,~t ■\-<^- 


\ •' •'. ‘ .-• v''- . j • ,.. 


»< - 


, Vi 


i. 


.'Wiiv 




[f; 


t • I 


t:i 





l' I 


* .J 




41 . >../'■ ^ U-. 




, 4 -Vj* ^ 

. .. 


BSfll ■I.- 








* ‘ K ♦ 

* s : . ' x'-: '• .V' • ’ : 

. • • • » > ... V "i- 1 * •- / 




i'MLfAi 


%. I 



il 





.♦V 






A 1 


v-o-r 




^^i^' y.t,. - . v -ir-i • f' .-'i X 

^■' ,\ ■ '.'X^- ' -iLjS 


I. 'V «- ■ 


^riv 


►• t - 


'‘jf‘ 






•Ji . 











V‘. r- .‘T 


<- V.n 


1 ^ -M • *1 « 




^iSi^ .J-m: - -'fi^Sr. 


J -• 




; ' 


4 . 

" I* 




■»..'-jV .• 


’ 




v'o 




•< t 

I r ^ ' 


r- 

r ^ r V C • 


< ^ 




•‘ •> 


r^‘» ‘ 

« 


•» . 


. t. t 

r 


* k 





? / ■ ' ■• 1 -. - ■ ' '• 'SSLi‘-M ■ 


- 1 4 


'■ ■ .' 

•“ •'V.t.Jtvi 


♦ « ‘r 


» 

r ' 


■ »♦ 




4 


4 


s ■ 


* ' 'A. ■ 

' * • '. '' ■•■ ‘‘i'i • 

• ’- '■* 


4 r 


i. 


7> 


# 

' ' T-; V ^ ’• 



/•: j 





F-«^ 


■!-o . 


•...r. / ,. . 


^vr*; ‘‘-..i ■ , •> . ■ : 

7^ . - ' 


s * 


■ i 


I • !'.i* 

- r* • : ' ‘ . 



; ■ , ' .- 4 ' ■• V 4 


*» / 


i? .iVrw» -i*' 


V - •«»* /■ 


•. j 


\ 4 V V ‘ 

? . - ‘ 'V 




: ^ - 

•4 

V 


•4 • ' 
I 


• ■ -U 

4 


’i . 


T; • 


7^-:. 

‘V* 

\ «l: 'i: 




: « 


* % - •' 


► V >r .» •X't* A > 

' V- ^ ^< 4 f » . V. 

T# \'*«*. *v 


'*' > ‘ 
' -..^J 


r ‘^v 


a .‘.yi 




. . -. ^ 


■ ■ '■ ■ • •■ ■ ■ '■‘•■^ •••' » - •• '■ 

A ' ^ ^ ^ V • y ^ • 


I • *. '. 
c ’ M 4 


!k 


. r 


■I 


.'•" ' Wi'-'V..*. -■ . . • •’' HIM*. • 

'.'■^' iji:’;: : • ; r ■ :. .;'v ;• • - ■,.• 

®'. . .‘BSSftSK.v.'-’.A : . A>-.-:^4:;. ■' ■ ■ ■■■ 





\ I 




/v 




■ ' X'V . 

V •• 


M 





\-t ■\ 





/ / . ■' ’r. 

^ ^ V * * 




/’f 

f 


* .’ * UP - A . ’ 

■r' . 

.'■"-IB ; •'' 




J/' • , ^ , V ? ♦ , « . I * ' ^ 


'1 i 


• * *'• 

A 






>t 

-r<i 

r * 
* » 

> 


/ i 





■ ^ 















A , vly^^ . *^ 4 * 

■ ^- 1: . ‘» 


t • ’*i 


•v , 







■wfeg . ^ ■ ^:i: ;, ^ v:. :',^ 

. N. ^ ‘w> » . • • V <• 

>"V 

.* ' < ‘ f * " I* 

, ^■■’7. ' X'*'- * ■"' •' . '’ ■ ' 

>3, .d ' , ‘ * • .< 


•tis. 


k ' 4 

^ \. , *'.' ' ^ 

^ . A 4 ^ 


r' 

4 < < 

‘ . 'i* 




y 

* * m 


. / 


/ ■• 




T'rit 


) 

•* 


^ ^ .> 
y \ » .-, 


% * i 

‘ ^ *1 
• i ■*: • - 


4 J 




“f* 


’ *>i- - * V^-Tv ' •* 

■'.''' ‘S' ' --O' ■ 

•i •• 

•‘ ,. • . .' -VV > 


MT/ivirc 

’'■;-i* . ■ 

. • • V« 


* 

\», 


4 > 

• . 


. % 


» 

- f 


N 

T • 


» « 


_•{ ' vr*, 

^ J» ‘Ti 


r i 

- -A. : ^ •/. : 


^ 4* * 

•r . 


'v.-‘‘jri- 


I ' 




« • 


r’. 




; '■. K ,.- .-i 

\]C<’ ' / ' V ^'^r* 

7^. *>7 it C»»* 

tC:^yV‘^ -: V'c 


# 

•H 


i 


\4r 


it»<> 




^ /■ 


: .V 4 V 


4 1 " •' 


<4. #* 





A ' . /j « j 


P--.. 




.'i 

' > 


• ' ^ 


'*1? 



•f 


_< ». 


< • 

» 


>» . 

;3 


> *, 


J- 




l • 


' ... :\h - 


< ■ ^ 


r> - 

■ , V ',.s ; A' .r* , . ; 

,r /» 


4 r»^* ... , < 

^ i ‘ 4 . 

; '. - s-i •;: 

^ i/wV - . f “ 

' 

‘^;V 

, • S-^ 

’ * ■ ^ • i L ' ■•- 

• . « 4 ' M « ' .f.- 




• 4 • . • 

, 4 




1 


• • 

. .-' 4 .* >■ 

0 



4« 


m 

( 

*n ' 



« 



‘4 

'*J" 

4 

: 

, 

’ 




' « 

a: 

< ^ ■ V , d • 


w 

^4 


* M 

. 

, 4 

-• . • 

. » 




* . .► ■ *■ . ’ . - 
. . i • I : , 

'' V- ■' • " " u' 

\f* . * «i . • ' •^* > 




• * 




f ‘ 

I ' *■ 


w< 


* • *’ . • • - 
^ 0 * * J ^ ^ ^ m» • I 

■ ’. X'.'- ■■ •• ./ .•'■.' . >^-.4, ', .. 

.. •■.-;■ -Vi ^ 



V.,- '.f ■ ''•■ '■'- ' '‘', ■■<'■■'■■ 

,, Jr'. ^ / . '*■■: §5 


• *, 


.:Vvy" • V 




» • . * * 







.4 


» * » 




^ 4^^ 





t • 

* ♦ # 

.A 

'•■ ;• 

f . 

. T 

l{^ 

. •'-'* * .-^ 

% > 

t \t * ** 

• A/.-., 


' -A* 
« • 




4ik' 

j . 


t 




- . V 


.-j: • i;. ■ 

?, ' ' '' '-i; * • - r$r < n! 


Vi 







. < 


*• . . * .% . 


^ 


% 


k • 


■ . •- 4 '■ ■ :.' " - '■ :y-?^'alP 

;•• i ^ *. - ' v''.**- r vt •*■ ^ • *V*'. * ^ •>!' 

•• -f ■ ■ ^i. /■ .. ■ -ih-^ ^ ;•/*- •••'■' ■■ ^ 

■ ' •'**.• •■■*•. ■ * ' * . • . • * ^ • » ’*;’ ^ ’ v'^’-"w^ '■'^j’v ’■ 

'*' ■"■ ■ ■ y ;^‘^v'-'- '■ V.* .V > 

. '-■- 1 , ,., V' ■■.•■'. ‘--s. .,fc '■ / '“ifei 




'TK''‘ J- ■ ‘ ' - . • .'■■■ ‘ . '*^■'.‘ 1 , 

' ■' - -'^ Sf '■ ^ 


• ^- . ' •' ./' iNVI.'-.^: ^ ■* ^ r 

*T. 

■"a a • . ‘« »? ’ 

V , 

Pi >< >/>“'< 


f . • , , • . • > 

, ' * /‘ * * * V . ' V* r • * 

•■'■■■■'’•'' .■ ' yj'^- V 

" ■ ^ ■' . - 







< . 

A 


' . .■/ -i' /•'.■■ .' 

V '■ ' .- • '• *0 



-h 


• • ^ .■ 




. r * V'' 


;i» ^ - * 

»• V *.. 


J 


y^< / ; : 

.' •. ». i : ;. k ^ . w. *' 

■ I •••-*' * ■ , . •; - - 

• , ' ‘ • . > .*. ' ’• 

V* • •’ r"'. 

■ y ■ /'-V • . * ' ' *•■'• 


'i ♦ 

I ' ; 


• * >, * 
^ f 


- < 


■ '-» 


y i 




V. 


* •y } 


t 

* 




V / 
- ' V ^ 


/ •* » ^ 

^ ; ' V^ 


'■'• .*. r ' y. 


I 


r V 

» . 


♦ »• 




'H, ’' ■' ■ 

Bn .■•'■ , 

^ i .\ ' - . . '4 . 

'^ ' j .' ' ♦ ', » *>. 1 ., * • 





•; -^^.ra 

V V ' 

• -•<' 


V 


I • 
» 


■ i* *<&4 


' ■'»■<' •' 'f/- * ^*' ^t’V - ■ ■ Jf"/' 


A 


rr. : 







